Mortal Kombat: Anthologies
by SpinoGuy Productions
Summary: The machinations behind the tournament and the siege on Deacon City were held secret. Until now. These are the stories leading up to those two events. At first glance, they have little to do with each other. However, all you need to do is read between the lines. Also, something even more sinister is brewing in the background. What could it be? Read on to find out.
1. The Fall of an Ego

**A/N:** Takes place roughly ten to eight years before Mortal Kombat: Rebirth.

* * *

Deep in the heart of Japan, a man wandered aimlessly, he was not lost. He knew exactly where he was, what day it was, and where he was currently heading. However, he never intended to go to the small city. In fact, he would've preferred had his path taken him elsewhere, but, it was pointless to change paths.

He was around twenty years of age, and a bit shorter. His jet black hair was tied into a pony-tail. He had a bit of stubble on his chin, but not enough to be disrespectful. He was wearing a red and black outfit. His sleeves went to his elbows, while his hands were covered by black gloves. His coat had a cape-like quality, slightly fluttering in the wind. The center of the torso was red, while the rest of his upper outfit was black. The underside of his cape was red, while the outer was black. He had black combat boots, and black pants. Tied around his waist was a red and black sash. Strapped to his back, two swords were clearly evident.

He heard a crack. He turned, knowing he was being followed. He sighed. It seemed this happened every day. He'd run into someone who thought they were the shit, then he'd have to teach them a lesson. It'd be one thing if the steps kept coming; that would signify that whoever was there either had no knowledge of him or they had no business with him. But, when he turned, they stopped. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted, they intended to do something to him.

He turned back, continuing on his way. The cracks of the branches were few and far between, but they were there. He stopped at a brief clearing. He looked around. Nobody. At least, that was what sight told him. His other senses told him otherwise.

He could feel the difference in the air, the distinct bird calls, and the smell. It smelled like cheap cigarettes. They clearly weren't professionals. The stench of alcohol burned his nostrils, making him think they came from a bar, and now they were looking for trouble. How they were able to stay hidden was a mystery to him. He reach for his right hand sword, pulling it out slowly. The pale moonlight glistening off the blade. He turned, expecting to see a group of men.

He got what he asked for.

There were five large men, each carrying a gun. This wasn't going to be easy. In fact, it would be impossible. He slowly slid his sword back in its scabbard, holding his hands up. He spoke. "I'm not looking for any trouble."

The center guy, a man with a dragon tattoo on his left arm, stepped closer to him. "Funny how life works, isn't it, little man?"

While the remark was cruel, he knew it to be true. He was about six-foot-one, the tattooed man towering over him. It would be easy to pull out his sword and cut him down. But could he get away from the other four before they tear him to bits?

He looked closer at the guns. AKs. They would put holes in him quicker than he could move away from the tattooed guy's body. He started to unbuckle his pouch, carrying all of his money. He offered it to the man, who swiped it out of his hands.

He opened it. He saw seven hundred yen, and a few coins. He looked up at the man, and complained, "Seven-hundred yen? That's all you've got?" He nodded lightly. "I have more than that in my shoe." The tattooed man noticed the swords. "Give me those."

The man frowned.

"What's the matter? Don't want to give up your precious knives?"

Complying, he removed both swords. He placed them on the ground, and backed off. The tattooed man laughed. "Yeah, that's right. Run along now," he mocked, picking them up. His group turned to walk, but the tattooed man stopped.

The others looked back with questioning looks. But he just stood there with a surprised look in his eyes. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down his nose. His AK was raised, firing onto two of the harassers. The remaining two ducked for cover, leaving the two to fall.

The tattooed man fell to the ground, the man pulling a knife out of his back. He looked at the two men cowering for their lives. He threw a knife into one of their skulls, leaving only one left. The man eyed him down viciously. He stalked towards him, twirling the blade in his hand. He grabbed him by the neck, hoisting him up.

The man growled, "Tell your friends about me. Say, 'Leave him alone.'" He dropped the shivering man, turning back to continue on his way.

"Who are you?" the man quivered.

He turned back to look at him and calmly declared, "Kenshi."

Kenshi grabbed the swords, and strapped them back to his back, while the quivering man ran away.

The swordsman snorted at the man's cowardly nature. True, Kenshi was holding him by the neck, but he could've easily fired off a shot before he got to him. He supposed some people were just idiots.

He knelt down next to the tattooed man, who was quivering on the ground. He was pleading, "Please. Don't—." Kenshi plunged the knife into his neck before he got the chance to finish. He searched the man, finding about around nine thousand yen. Good enough. No way could this guy, who probably spent more time in a bar than at a workplace, conjure up that much money. Not that he was complaining right now. It added to his bank.

He took a last second to survey the death. It was the twenty-first century, yet you still needed to worry about getting jumped in the forest. He put that though away for later continuing on his journey.

* * *

It was half past noon when he finally reached the town. Now was as good as any to restock on supplies.

When Kenshi first stepped into the town, he received a few strange glances. It was a small place. A nice area to live. Shame that he wasn't looking for that. He walked over to the shopping center, finding more than enough for his trip. He saw a older man working a little kiosk, which was modest, but it had a few customers there.

He stepped in front of the counter, looking around. There wasn't much here. But he was hungry, and he needed something to eat. He paid for a ham and turkey sandwich. Thanking the man, he sat down on a nearby bench, enjoying the food by himself.

He observed the crowd of people with a keen eye, picking out anyone of interest. He took another bite, feeling the wad of food falling down his throat. He saw an old man, older than the one at the kiosk. Despite this, he still had a head of dark hair. He was clean shaven. He was wearing a black robe with white details. He was walking towards Kenshi. The swordsman eyed the man suspiciously. Whoever he was, Kenshi didn't want to take his eyes off him. Something felt… off about this man.

Either way, he made room when the man sat down next to him. Kenshi finished off his meal, wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin.

The old man spoke first. "Nice city, huh?" Kenshi confirmed with a nod, not saying a word.

The man looked at Kenshi. He asked, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"I'm not from around anywhere," Kenshi affirmed.

The old man looked impressed. "From the look of those blades, you are a swordsman, no?"

"So I've been told."

"Then I'm assuming you are training, correct?"

Kenshi looked at the old man in the eyes. "Is taking part in people's personal lives a habit of yours?"

The old man held up his hands in defense. He reassured, "I am merely asking, young one." He looked around. "You see, there's a competition going on, and I think you would be interested."

Kenshi's eyes narrowed. "What kind of competition?" he calmly demanded.

"Only to see who the best swordsman is! Of course, it's only locally, but they let outsiders participate."

 _Competition, huh?_ Kenshi pondered. "Is there a prize?"

"Only about thirty thousand yen, but it is well worth it," the man replied.

Kenshi weighed his options. He didn't have much money, and what little he did have would go towards hotel and food. It would be nice to have some spending money. Kenshi grinned. "When do we begin?"

"The tournament's in a few hours, more than enough time to get ready." The old man stood, clearly ecstatic. "Come, we must get you sign up, um… I'm sorry, we weren't formally introduced."

"Kenshi," the swordsman answered.

The old man took the hand Kenshi did not extend, shaking it madly. "A fitting name for one such as yourself." The man smiled. "My name is Song."

* * *

Kenshi and Song stepped into the arena. It was a modest place, similar to the town, but there was a sense of personality here. It clearly belonged to this town. Kenshi looked at Song. "You said this was to the death, right?"

"You can, although they prefer if you don't," Song confirmed. "Why? Is this a problem?"

"No," Kenshi assured. "It just means I can cut loose."

They took their positions to the side of the fighting area. The crowd was going wild. Currently, two very large men were dueling. One had a double-sided broadsword, while the other was wielding an ax. The battle had clearly taken a toll on both. The ax wielder was able to confuse the sword wielder, tripping him up. He brought the ax down, cutting into his sternum. Thankfully, the blow killed him instantly.

The winner held out his arms, welcoming the cheers. Kenshi smirked. "He's good. I almost didn't see that coming."

Song looked at Kensh confused. "What do you mean, almost?"

"When he leaned back, that was when he was getting ready to trip him. He used his opponent's momentum and stupidity against him. Still, they were both good."

The announcer yelled, "Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Today, we have a newcomer! He'll be fighting the great, the powerful, Ozaru!"

A rather large, hairy man stood, a claymore strapped to his back. He would easily tower over Kenshi when standing. His hair was spiked up in a bad Mohawk. A dragon tattoo was etched onto the right side of his face, covering up a nasty scar. The crowd went nuts. Clearly this wasn't his first competition.

Kenshi remained seated, ready for his name to be called. "Now, I know next to nothing about this next contestant!" the announcer called out. "But I can introduce him for you! Kenshi!"

He walked up to Ozaru, who had a smug grin on his face. _I shouldn't talk_ , thought Kenshi, as he had the exact same grin. They looked each other in the eyes. Ozaru easily stood several heads above Kenshi. Kenshi found himself looking up at the man's face, his neck craned back at a ninety degree angle.

"What I'm about to do to you," Ozaru commented, "…nothing personal."

"Likewise," Kenshi agreed.

He placed his hand on both of his swords, pulling them out slowly. Ozaru did the same, clutching his claymore with both hands. Both glared at each other, peering into one another's soul. Ozaru smiled wickedly, while Kenshi maintained the same grin.

"Begin!"

Ozaru charged at Kenshi. The dual swordsman stayed standing, not moving an inch. Finally, as the man of hair was about come down with the sword, he quickly evaded the attack. The claymore cracked the ground slightly, but it was lifted as quickly, going for Kenshi's throat. He backed up, easily avoiding the slash.

Ozaru swung his sword to the left horizontally and down vertically, both of which Kenshi avoided. Just as another swipe was about to hit him, he blocked the blow with both swords. Ozaru looked dumbstruck, as Kenshi kicked him away. The lone swordsman twirled both his swords, looking down at the fallen giant. Ozaru got to his feet, fuming.

He ran at Kenshi, yelling at the top of his lungs. Kenshi's defense tightened as the onslaught of attacks came. But no matter what he did, Ozaru couldn't land an attack. The lone swordsman appeared to have the giant hopelessly outmatched. Ozaru went for a stab, hoping that something, anything, would work.

Kenshi used his swords to push the blade up just before it impaled him. Using Ozaru's momentum, Kenshi thrust a sword into his gut. They both silently stood there. Kenshi's grin couldn't get any bigger. He dislodged the weapon from the giant's gut before placing the bloodied one, as well as the clean one, back in their sheaths.

Ozaru's jaw was dropped. The crowd was silent. The lone swordsman walked away from the standing giant. Slowly, the giant fell forward. Ozaru landed on the ground with a loud thud, shaking everyone in the arena to the core. Ozaru was actually a five time winner. He's never been beaten. And to think the newbie did him in. That thought alone angered the others viewing the fight.

The entire competition continued like this. There would be some good fights, but Kenshi practically decimated everyone within a minute. All that was left was the guy with the ax. And he'd always use that trick. No matter what, that was how he always won. Kenshi had to find a way to use that against him. And their match was next.

Yippee.

Kenshi had barely broken a sweat, but he got the feeling that this was going to be different. This guy had gotten aggressive more so than the first match. That also made him more dangerous.

They both walked to the center of the arena, not daring to take their eyes off each other. Kenshi already had his swords out, as had the man with the ax. There were no words exchanged. There wasn't even an announcement that the fight was starting. Bot man simply ran at each other.

Kenshi leaped over the man, giving him a deep gash across the back as he landed. He retaliated by swinging the blade almost too quick for the lone warrior to avoid. He earned a scar across the chest for his troubles, however, causing him to grit his teeth. He swung both swords around, attempting to slice something off. But he couldn't get a hit on the man. The larger fighter swung the blade wildly, causing Kenshi to back up. He could only block swings from the ax, as he couldn't bring up a counter attack quick enough. He ducked down low, allowing the weapon to make a complete swipe, just narrowly missing the top of his head.

The swordsman spun in a circle with a leg out, tripping him down. He raised both swords, ready to strike, but the blow was blocked by the ax's handle. Strong ax. The man kicked Kenshi's legs out from under him, earning a yelp of surprise. His opponent raised his ax, bringing it down upon the swordsman. He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the ax hitting the ground, causing it to be lodged into the ground. Kenshi kicked the large man away, leaving the blade in the ground. He charged the warrior, swords ready to taste blood. He stabbed at the man, who had to quickly side step out of the way to avoid being impaled. The man elbowed him in the back, sending him to the ground. One of his swords were thrown to the side, while he let go of the other.

Kenshi got to his hands and knees, but a searing pain sent him back down. He looked back. The remaining sword was lodged in his shoulder, blood seeping out of the wound. He reached for the hilt. Pain lanced through his entire body. He gritted his teeth and stood, sending the sword deeper into his shoulder, and pulled the sword out. He stood, clutching his wound with one hand and holding the sword with another.

Giving up crossed his mind. Surrender felt good. But Kenshi's pride wouldn't allow him. He stumbled towards his opponent, who stood his ground. The sword was swung lazily towards the warrior. He just backed up slightly, the blade mere inches from his face. He grabbed Kenshi by the throat hoisting him up above the ground.

"You killed every single one of them," he spat. "I'm going to kill you slowly."

Kenshi reached under his cape, murmuring, "Think you'll get the chance?"

The man's pressure tightened. The swordsman's throat enclosed now. "Maybe I should just kill you now, save everyone the trouble of ever dealing with you again."

Kenshi pulled out a knife, keeping it hidden. "Good luck with that."

He sent the blade into his opponent's jugular with lightning fast speed. Blood shot out from the warrior's neck, getting it on Kenshi's face for a brief second, but slowly poured down. He dropped the swordsman, instead focusing on covering the wound. His hands were drenched with blood, dyeing them red. He looked up at the swordsman, burning fearing seared into his eyes, despite the glossed over appearance.

The man fell to the ground, a loud thud accompanying the fall. Kenshi wavered in place. Blood began dripping from his mouth, yet there was still a smirk planted firmly on his face. It was still there even when he fell on his back, limbs splayed outward. The last thing he saw before giving into the blackness was Song looking down on him with an angry grimace.

* * *

A bright light burned through his closed eyes. Kenshi raised his arm to cover the light, but a voice shouted at him. "Don't! You'll reopen the stiches!"

Song?

Kenshi looked up at Song, who rushed to his side. "Do you realize how long that took?"

"I'm guessing quite a few hours," Kenshi remarked. He looked down at his shoulder, seeing the large, freshly stitched scar. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few days," Song replied. Pouring a glass of water, he gave it to Kenshi's uninjured arm. The swordsman down the drink quickly, handing the glass back to Song. "Thisty?" Song asked jokingly.

The swordsman nodded, motioning for another. After three glasses of water, he asked, "Where am I?"

"My room," replied Song. "I had to bring you here so the others wouldn't kill you." He pulled out a pouch. "But I was able to get this."

He looked closely at it. His eyebrow was raised quizzically. "Is that the money?"

"Per the rules, they gave us the money, despite how much you angered them."

"I only fought as the rules allowed."

"Remember what I said before the first fight?"

"Something about-."

"'They prefer it if you don't kill.' And I meant that." He handed Kenshi the pouch. "That's half the winning, although it is worthless next to—Nevermind."

Kenshi propped himself up on his elbow. "Next to what?"

Song looked at Kenshi suspiciously. "It is said, that deep in the mountains, there is a sword."

Kenshi looked disappointed. He slumped back in his bed, exhaling loudly. "A sword, huh?" he asked, disinterested.

"Oh, yes. In fact, legend claims that it is over six hundred years old."

Rolling his eyes, the swordsman claimed, "Pretty old sword…"

Song leaned in closer. "Only a true swordsman is allowed to wield the sword. No one knows who forged the sword, only that it is potentially the most powerful in all of existence."

 _Yeah, right_ , thought Kenshi. "Okay, say this sword does exist. Where is it?"

"Like I said, deep in the mountains. About a week's walk, at most," assured Song. He gave Kenshi his sword. He smiled. "I wasn't able to acquire the other sword. It was lost in the crowd of anger."

Kenshi's smile faded quickly. He looked down at the sword. _Great_ , he thought, _now I need a new one._ He looked up at Song. "Do you have an exact location?"

"On your sword?"

"No, the ancient one."

"I'm afraid not. However, I do know it is northeast. There should be a large opening, with many witchcraft objects around." He shuddered comically. "Scary stuff."

"When will I be able to walk?"

"I'd give you about three weeks before I feel comfortable letting you leave." He snorted. "Even then, I feel like you're just going to kill yourself on the way there."

Kenshi waved him off. "I'll be fine. I'll stay for three weeks. Then, I'm going to get that sword."

"Now you're interested, huh?"

"I don't have the materials necessary to forge a new sword, plus buying one is money I don't want to spend. Sure, it'll be quite the walk, but it's a free sword."

Song shrugged. "Just be sure to come back here so I can get a good look with it."

"You don't want it?"

The old man motioned to himself. "Look at me. What would I need with a sword? Merely knowing about its existence is enough for me."

"And if I find the cave and there is nothing there?"

"Then I will give you my half of the money. There is no way you will come out of this journey without something."

Kenshi nodded. "Three weeks. In three weeks, I'm out of here."

* * *

Four weeks later,

The journey had been uneventful. Kenshi just walked from point A to point B. Either way, the searing pain in his chest never seemed to stop. It had even gotten worse since leaving Song. His entire left arm had bandage wrapped around it.

He left about a week ago. His trek through the mountains was strenuous, and because of his shoulder, he had to stop more than once. But he was close, so close he could taste it. It would be good to have such a great weapon, if what Song spoke about it was true. However, he didn't hold his breath. He made sure to pack enough for a trip back, thinking for sure he was on some wild goose chase.

 _I swear if I'm walking into nothing, I'm going to kill someone_ , Kenshi thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when he hit a wall. He rubbed his nose, making sure it wasn't broke and looked up. His path was blocked by stone. The only way through was a small crack, barely big enough to fit him alone. He felt his hilt, knowing he'd have to take it off if he wanted through. He unclipped it, and put it aside. He took in a breath of air, and squeezed through.

 _At least now I know what a T.V. dinner feels like_. He felt as though the walls were growing slightly narrower. Finally, he made his way through the crevice, muttering curses along the way. Once he made it through, he saw the cave. He looked around, seeing poles with animal heads, skulls, and all sorts of freakiness around. Several skeletons were strung up by the neck, with some still having a bit of meat on them.

If Kenshi could go the rest of his life without seeing something like this again, it would be too soon. He stepped into the opening, the darkness enveloping him quickly. He looked back, asking himself, _Is this a good idea?_ He stepped in further. The light from the opening got just a bit dimmer. Sweat began dripping down his face. An unfamiliar emotion began to creep up on him, an emotion he hasn't felt since he lost his parents.

Fear.

Fear of what's to come, fear of the consequences, and fear of what lies beyond.

But he didn't plan of being fear's bitch.

He took another step. A small chuckle began to fill the cave. _Don't give in_ , Kenshi told himself. _It's just in your head._ He took out a flashlight, flipping it on. It took a couple seconds, and hitting it with his palm, but the light turned on. He moved it around, getting a good look. Sure, the cave was creepy, but he couldn't tell what was so different about this cave than any others. He didn't like caves in general, but this one actually frightened him. He walked for about twenty feet when he came to a wall. This wall was different. It was protruding outward oddly.

Some _kanji_ were written across the wall. They read, "Only those worthy may wield the Sword of Sento."

That at least gave him a name. Sento? _Weird name_ , Kenshi pondered. _Although Kenshi isn't all that common._

He placed his hand on the stone, rubbing his hand along it. He craned his neck, getting a good look at the twenty-five foot ceiling. He scrunched his face up, straining his eyes in the dim light. Even with the flashlight pointed upwards, the blackness seemed to destroy light before it went too far. He looked back at the slab of stone. _What do I do?_

Putting his hand on the stone again, he felt for any inconsistencies in the texture. After a good thirty seconds of prodding, he found piece of stone elevated slightly. He pushed down on it. The _kanji_ burst into a bright blue glow, finally showing off the entire cave in full. It wasn't much, but there were symbols that not even he knew. He stepped closer to one, but the slab began to open. Turning back, his eyes widened with awe.

A small room revealed itself to Kenshi. Based on looks alone, it seemed no different than the outer cave, save a column raising up in the middle. Imbedded in that column was a katana. Its handle was red and gold, while the blade had a dragon along the side of it. Tied to the end was a piece of long, red cloth. He stepped closer, reaching his hand out. Grabbing it, he pulled it out.

That was when his life changed forever.

Green beings burst out of the sword, circling Kenshi. He reached for his own, then remembered he left it behind. Cursing himself, he eyed the beings cautiously. He counted six in total. The closest one, and the one unnoticed, picked Kenshi up through some unseen force. The swordsman was hoisted up to eye level with the being. It looked Kenshi directly in the eyes, and grabbed his head. It opened its mouth, roaring at Kenshi.

He screamed.

A burst of green light began to cloud his vision, then nothing. He fell to the ground hard, probably breaking a bone. He looked around, but saw nothing. And he used that term literally. The column, the sword, the beings, nothing. Just black.

"Congratulations," a voice told him.

He turned his head towards the source of the sound. "Who's there?" he yelled. That voice sounded familiar.

"I never though the effects would be like this," the voice continued on, the sound of footsteps nearing him. "I had originally thought the curse would kill you. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some."

Pinpointing the voice, Kenshi inquired, "Song?"

"There is no Song!" He sounded angry. "Song was just a figment, nothing more, nothing less. Understand, fool?"

"W-Why?"

A deep inhale was heard. "The inscription on the door is true. Only those worthy may wield the sword. Anyone may open that door. However, once you are in, it is said they try to kill you." He huffed. "Not even I know the full story, only snippets. Never did I suspect that you would be blinded."

The footsteps grew louder. "This must be their test. Good test."

Kenshi crawled forward. "Who are you?"

"I go by many names. Perhaps you know me as… Shang Tsung."

His grandfather told him stories of the mythical Shang Tsung. That, if you were naughty, he would steal your soul. Turns out he was right. Except he had a feeling it wasn't just people who were naughty get their souls taken. "You… bastard."

"Oh, you thought I only wanted to know of the swords existence? I've known of this sword since before you were even born. I merely wanted what it contained."

Kenshi put two and two together. "Souls?"

"Exactly! But enough talk. I have my souls, you have your sword." He heard a jingle. "Here. I won't be needing this." Something landed in front of the now blind swordsman. He reached out for it. A pouch. "Maybe, one day, we will meet in hell, Kenshi. But until then, sayonara." Slowly, the footsteps grew quitter.

Just before they disappeared, Kenshi howled, at the top of his lungs, "I WILL KILL YOU!" The footsteps stopped abruptly. "There is nowhere on this Earth you can hide from me, do you understand, _Shang Tsung_!"

He heard laughter, footsteps joining the laughter. He heard the laughing long after the footsteps faded away, mocking him. Kenshi fell to the ground, unable to move.

"Kenshi."

Kenshi's head shot up. He turned his head around. This voice was calm, with a sense of compassion, giving him the sense that he need not be afraid. He felt a rush of cold air against his skin. It calmed him greatly.

"W-Who's there?" he stammered out.

The voice said, "We are the collective will that composites that Sword of Sento. We have been able to escape becoming a part of Shang Tsung. However, if he is not stopped, he will cause untold havoc."

Kenshi crawled towards the voice. "W-What…?"

"He uses the souls he collects to enhance his own power, to better himself. One day, We fear he may become too powerful. We must stop him before that happens."

"I don't want to _stop_ him. I'm going to _kill_ him," the swordsman hissed.

"And We can guide you, child. All you need to do is grab your birth right."

"My-?"

"Several hundred years ago, your ancestors forged this sword. It was handed down for many generations before being lost to time."

"Then why did it blind me?"

"The curse put onto blade was meant to keep it out of the wrong hands. However, the sorceress could not make it differentiate between friend and foe."

Kenshi clenched his hand. _So that's why that bastard led me here._

"If you take hold of the sword, you will be able to make it out of this cave, and take hold of your vengeance."

A faint glow appeared to the swordsman. He reached out to it, but grabbed nothing. He readjusted his aim, and took hold of the blade's hilt.

He was able to, for lack of a better term, see. However, he could only make out faint outlines. He couldn't tell a rock from a piece of metal. That is, however, except his sword. To him, the sword was as clear to him as when he first laid eyes on it.

Kenshi took hold of the piece of cloth, and wrapped it around his eyes. He tied it into a knot, and held the sword tightly.

He took a step forward. The step felt like a gong went off. He clutched his head, dropping the sword. While it was a well-known fact that, in absence of sight, a human's remaining four senses were heightened. He guessed that it wasn't like this. He seemed to have a radar sense.

"That'll take some getting used to," he told himself. He made his way out of the cave, basking in the sunlight.

He spoke to the sword. "Sento, I don't know if you can hear me anymore. But I just wanted to say, thank you. Without you, I'd still be in that damn cave. I owe you my life."

Squeezing through the small opening once again, he grabbed the sword he left behind. He pulled it out, and let it drop. Swinging the scabbard on his back, he sheathed the Sento. "As you as my witness, Shang Tsung will die by this blade," Kenshi vowed.

He walked off, head held high. Nothing would stop him now.

* * *

A/N: Huge props to iceagnelmkx, who, after I posted this edited all the mistakes she noticed for me. Thank you!

Spino, out.


	2. A Start of Revenge

**A/N:** Takes place roughly a decade before the events of Mortal Kombat: Rebirth.

* * *

Hanzo shot up from his sleep drenched in sweat.

Breathing heavily, he found himself in a strange. What happened? Where was he? Why didn't he have a shirt on? Sure enough, when he looked down, he saw his torso without covering. He noticed the scar near his heart. When had he gotten that? He traced a finger down the roughly stitched scar. He had no memory of the past… How long had it been?

The last thing he remembered was leaving Kana and Jubei. Why wasn't he at the temple? He then started to notice the details of the room. It was a plain room, a lamp sat on a desk next to the bed he was laying on, currently turned off. Beneath the lamp was a sandwich, along with a glass of milk. From what Hanzo could see, it had lettuce and mayonnaise on it, along with some meat. Hanzo couldn't tell what kind. Why was food set out beside him? There was a picture of a woman hanging on the wall. She looked to be in her twenties. Possibly younger. The desk had a drawer, and some symbols that Scorpion didn't understand.

His swords. They were leaned up against the far corner, cleaned. One of them was broken in half. When did that happen? Perhaps he had been hit in the head. Yeah, that had to be it. Whatever had happened, he was in a place he didn't know.

"Ah, good. You're awake."

Hanzo dashed out of the bed, thankful he had pants on, and put the person in a chokehold. The person he was holding was an elderly man, grasping at Hanzo's arms. Glasses were on the floor, probably knocked off when Hanzo rushed him. He was wearing simple jeans, and a t-shirt.

"Where am I?" Hanzo demanded, making sure to not strengthen his hold, nor let it falter.

The elderly man choked a bit, but was able to say, "*ack* You're in my *cough* home! I found you *ugh* in the river!"

Hanzo let the man go, who rubbed his neck. "My, you're a jumpy one."

Looking at the man, Hanzo nodded, but didn't say anything. He bent down to grab the man's glasses, but he swatted Hanzo away.

"Ah ah ah! The way you handle people," the man scolded, "I don't want to know how you'd handle my glasses." He struggle, groaning when he bent down, but he grabbed his glasses and put them on.

Hanzo said, "Forgive me for my ignorance. I thought I was... I don't know what."

The elderly man waved him off. "There's nothing to worry about. If I was twenty years younger, I would've done the same in your position." He slipped the glasses on his face, and smiled. "I wouldn't want to find myself in a strange home with someone I don't know. But please, eat. I set food out for you.."

He looked back towards the desk. Hanzo followed his gaze. So, that was why the food was set out. That answer that question.

"Well, go on, boy," said the man. "Eat something before you starve."

Hanzo nodded. He stepped towards the food. He sat on the bed, eyeing it cautiously. He took off the top piece of bread, examining the contents. Someone could never be too sure if something was poisoned or booby-trapped.

"You know, boy," called out the man, "there's a difference between jumpy and paranoid."

Hanzo chuckled. He picked up the sandwich, and took a bite. It was a ham sandwich. That was when he realized how truly hungry he was. He wolfed down the rest in several more bites, taking a large gulp of milk. He could hear the man laugh, but he was too hungry to notice. When he took a bite of the apple, he saw the symbols on the desk again.

He squinted his eyes. Those four symbols seemed oddly familiar. "戰鬥或死." What do they mean? He put the thought away for later.

He turned back towards the man, mumbling, "Thank you," in between bites. After swallowing, he bowed his head, and said, "We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Hanzo Hasashi."

The man bowed as well. "Sota Yamashita. Tell me, what were you doing in the river?"

Oh, yeah. That little detail. To be perfectly honest, Hanzo didn't remember. "I don't know. I left my wife and child to see my Grand Master, and nothing after that."

Sota crossed his arms. He seemed to be deep in thought. He then shrugged. "Whatever it is, it's over now."

Hanzo scratched at his scar. Alarmed, Sota slapped his hand away. "Don't scratch at it! It's not yet fully healed."

The scar was a large one. Hanzo just couldn't figure out why it was there. He remembered ever other scar he had gotten. But not that one.

Sota continued. "A month of fixing you up, and what thanks do I get? Scratching away my progress."

That caught Hanzo's attention. "Wait, what did you say?"

Sota looked offended, but he carried on nonetheless. "I said, 'I've been fixing you up for a month.'"

Hanzo suddenly became horrified. It all came back to him. In less than the time it takes a humming bird to flap its wings, he remembered the attack.

 _"We have quite the surprise for you, Hanzo."_

 _"This entirely your fault,_ old friend. _"_

 _"Mom!"_

 _"KANA!"_

Scorpion fell to the floor, letting loose the lunch he just ate. Sota jumped back. After there was nothing less to expel, he fell to the ground. His body went into violent convulsions. He landed in his own vomit, but he didn't care. He was now crying.

His son. His wife. His entire clan.

Gone.

He was the only one left. There was no one. No one to call ally, friend, or family. The tears mixed with the vomit, deluding it slightly.

Sota ran towards Hanzo, shouting, "My God, boy, what has gotten into you?"

Hanzo then began whimpering. "No! Kana. Jubei. Why? Why?"

Picking Hanzo up, Sota leaned him against the bed. "What has happened?"

"They're dead." Hanzo looked directly into Sota's eyes. "They're all dead."

"Who? Who are all dead? Who is Kana and Jubei?" Suddenly, realization hit Sota like a ton of bricks. "Oh. You're wife and child."

Hanzo put his face in his hands, sobbing loudly. Sota could do nothing to ease Hanzo's pain. He rubbed Hanzo's shoulder.

* * *

Several hours had passed, and now Hanzo had finally calmed down. However, he had not spoke since his initial outburst.

Hanzo had been sitting in the room Sota had given him. Hanzo hadn't moved. The vomit cleaned up long ago by Sota, who was not in the room.

He thought about the day. Bi-Han piercing his heart with his own blade. Bi-Han broke it in half. He was currently running his hand along the blade. It sliced a shallow cut along his palm. Hanzo didn't even flinch. A drop of blood fell to the floor, making a loud noise. Or maybe it was just so quiet, it seemed loud. It still didn't stir Hanzo.

But the door opening did. Hanzo looked up, and saw Sota with a bottle in his hand. He nodded, and continued rubbing his hand along the blade.

Sota sat across from Hanzo. Neither said a word for a few minutes.

Finally, Sota broke the silence. "I'm not going to try to understand how you feel. But I can empathize with your pain."

Hanzo looked away.

"Boy, you need to say something."

"Who is she?" Hanzo asked.

Sota raised an eyebrow. Hanzo pointed to the picture. "Ah," Sota replied. "She was my daughter."

"Was?" Hanzo said.

Sota nodded. "She died several years ago." Tears began forming in his eyes. "I don't quite remember how it happened. All I remember is that I woke up to find her bleeding in my arms."

"I'm sorry," Hanzo said.

Sota looked Hanzo in the eyes. "For what? You didn't do it. No, I suspect the one's who did were vile people. She was only nineteen."

So, Hanzo was correct in his assumption. "Most likely. I bet you were a good father."

Chuckling, Sota said, "She was raised by her mother for the most part. I was away more than I wished to be. But I swear on my grave, I loved her more than anything."

"What happened to her mother?" He was intruding on someone's private life. But he was curious.

"Died." Sota didn't look as sad. "Thankfully, she died peacefully a few years before my daughter. Her name was Aiko."

Hanzo leaned closer. "Your daughter or your wife?"

"Both of them, actually. If Aiko was going to be a boy, we would name him Kazuhira."

"'Peace.'"

Sota nodded. "Exactly. But, I'm happy she was a girl." He then raised another eyebrow. "Now, tell me about your wife."

A pang of fresh sadness lanced through Hanzo. However, he said something. "Her name was Kana. She was a caring person." A tear formed in Hanzo's eye. "The kindest soul I've ever met. Some years ago, when she said she was pregnant with Jubei, our son, I'm not going to lie. I did freak out just a bit. But she was able to keep her cool throughout the pregnancy."

Sota chuckled. "That sounds exactly like my wife."

"So, when Jubei was born, I was the happiest man in the world." Hanzo's smile faded. "I just regret him being born into the Shirai Ryu."

Sota perked up at hearing that. "You're a Shirai Ryu?"

Hanzo nodded. "I thought it would make me a better man. In the end, it just killed everyone."

"How so?"

"There was a man, his name was Bi-Han. When we were younger, we were like brothers. Then, he joined the Lin Kuei, and I joined the Shirai Ryu. The next time we met, we nearly killed each other." Hanzo clenched a fist around his sword. "That was about four years ago. A month or so ago, he..." Hanzo looked down at the sword, now stained in his blood.

Sota nodded in understanding.

Hanzo looked back up. "Sota. Can you leave me alone for about an hour?"

Without a word, Sota got up, and exited the room.

* * *

Several days later,

Hanzo was currently looking into the mirror. His hair had grown out, his beard could be compared to Santa's beard, and his face was still dirty. One name rolled around in his head right now.

Bi-Han.

He who Hanzo once considered a brother.

The man who murdered his family. Anger filled Hanzo, a pure bitter hatred that would not go away. It would be inside him. Just because of a simple rivalry between the two clans. Bi-Han was the straw. For that, he must die.

Hanzo noticed something else as well. His eyes were whitening. He never took the time to look into a mirror, but Sota had been giving him strange looks as of late. Now Hanzo knew why. He looked closer, but nothing changed. It didn't bother Hanzo physically. He could still see perfectly fine. Better than before, even. But why?

He rubbed at his hair and beard. Hanzo opened the medicine cabinet in the mirror, and grabbed razor. A half hour later, he only had a minor goatee. Just the way he liked it. He took out a shaver, and turned it on. He looked into the mirror, and turned it towards his hair.

Sota limped towards the bathroom door, banging on it. "What are you doing in there, boy?"

He was taken aback when Hanzo stepped out. His eyes. That was what nearly gave Sota a heart attack. They were totally white. Completely blank. But despite that, Sota could see the burning anger in his eyes. He then noticed Hanzo's haircut. It was short now. That answered Sota's question.

Hanzo passed Sota, walking towards some clothes Sota bought him. He grabbed the black zip up hoodie. He put on a black shirt, and his combat pants. He put them on quickly. He grabbed his kunai launchers, and looked at Sota. He bowed deeply in front of the older man. "I am forever in your debt, Sota-san."

Sota place his hand on Hanzo's shoulder. "I guess this is goodbye."

Hanzo nodded. "But I need to find my family's killer."

"Hate leads to anger, my friend," Sota replied. He was quoting Star Wars, but it seemed lost on Hanzo. "That anger you are feeling towards the man who did this will be your demise."

He turned his back on Hanzo, and said, "I will not stop you. It is your life. Throw it away if you want."

Hanzo put the launchers on his wrist. Pulling up the hood, he turned to leave, but stopped. "What do they mean?"

"Hmm." Sota turned back.

Hanzo pointed to the symbols. "Those. I've been seeing them everywhere."

Sota chuckled. "They're Chinese. That was where my wife was from."

Hanzo looked from the symbol back to Sota. "What do they mean?"

Sota turned around, and sat down on his chair.

"They mean 'Fight or Die.'"

Nodding, Hanzo turned back. He heard Sota call out, "Remember this, Hanzo! Don't let your thirst for vengeance cloud your mind!"

Hanzo stopped. That name. 'Hanzo.' It just didn't feel right, bearing that name. It belonged to the Hasashi family. And Hanzo died that day.

"That is not my name," Hanzo said. Sota raised an eyebrow. "He died with his family."

He turned to face Sota. "My name is Scorpion."

Without another word, only a nod of understanding from Sota, Scorpion turned and walked away.


	3. Death of a Friendship

**A/N:** Takes place several years after Mortal Kombat: Legacy.

* * *

Kung Lao stepped out of the taxi.

He was dressed in a finely pressed black suit with his hair slicked back. He held a briefcase to the side and his blade hat was placed on his back.

On his face was a look of determination. The stone cold gaze caused a few bystanders to step away from him. They did not matter. He was at this rundown bar for one reason.

He smelled the air. It reeked of alcohol. Almost five years ago was the last time he stepped inside a bar. That's when he was visited by Raiden and that cop. A new outlook on life.

The thought of stepping in a bar again was not a pleasant thought. If he took a sip, he might take another. Or another. But he didn't come here to get drunk.

Kung Lao only came here to put down a dog.

He stepped into the bar, only to find it almost completely empty. There were three people inside, not counting himself. A bartender, who perked up when he saw new potential business, a man in a duster sleeping at a booth, and another patron at a bar who took another shot.

Kung Lao walked, sat down next to him, and told the bartender, "Water, please."

He then caught a fist that flew towards him. When the bartender set the glass of water down, Kung Lao took a drink, then turned to face his attacker. "Liu Kang."

"How did you find me?" Liu Kang slurred. He looked to have aged terribly. His face was unshaven, the red sweatshirt he wore was filthy, and his eyes were horribly sunken in.

"I had some help." That was all he was going to say. "I came here to kill you."

"Yeah, I bet you did." Liu Kang sent another fist towards his former friend, but Kung Lao dodged it. He then grabbed Liu Kang's arm and used his momentum to send him onto the pool table.

Liu Kang rolled off the table, grabbed a pool ball, and chucked it at Kung Lao. The former Shaolin was hit in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Taking this opportunity, Liu Kang charged Kung Lao and speared him into the table.

Kung Lao gritted his teeth before wrapping his arm around Liu Kang's neck and slamming his fist into his back repeatedly. Liu Kang lifted him up and flipped him to his back. He staggered slightly before moving towards his downed rival. Kung Lao, rubbed his back before performing a kip up and get back to his feet.

He stated, "You can't win this, Liu."

"You're the one with restraint," Liu Kang slurred, putting up his fist. " _You_ don't want to kill _me_. But _I_ want to kill _you_."

Kung Lao was silent. There was some truth to Liu Kang's words. He remembered a time when they were as close as brothers. But that time has long gone. He removed his jacket and ripped off his tie. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, "You're right."

In a flash, he flung his bladed hat towards Liu Kang, who had enough of his sense to duck. The hat lodged itself into the opposite wall. As Liu turned back to face his old friend, he was sent back with a kick to the chest. He toppled over the bar and disappeared behind it.

Kung Lao slowly made his way towards the bar, each step more cautious than the last. This caution paid off as Liu Kang sprang forth with a broken bottle and began swinging it at Kung Lao.

He was able to dodge every swipe, but he couldn't keep this up for long. He grabbed Liu Kang's hand, twisted it, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the bar. He then pushed him into the shelves, causing all the bottles to collapse on him. Liu Kang ignored the pain of having many shards of glass embedded in him and lunged.

He tackled Kung Lao onto the floor and began raining down blow after blow. He was snarling like a mad dog now. But Kung Lao was able to either avoid or block every punch thrown at him. Liu Kang was getting sloppy. He was drunk and probably hadn't fought an actual fight in years.

The former Shaolin was going to use this to his advantage. He gave a might push and Liu Kang was flung off onto the pool table again. He grabbed one of the pool balls and threw it at his old friend. This time, however, Kung Lao spun to avoid it and used the momentum to send a fist into Liu Kang's face. Blood flew out of his nose, followed by the same red liquid to fly out of his mouth.

Kung Lao grabbed Liu Kang by the hair and slammed him into a pool table. Liu Kang fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but Kung Lao kicked him in the face. He dropped to one knee before taking a deep breath.

"Please. Just stay down."

Liu Kang got to his hand and knees before leaping towards him, shouting, "Kill you!" repeatedly. Blood and spit flew from his mouth and splattered on Kung Lao. At this point there were too many weaknesses in Liu Kang's style for him to win at this point.

Kung Lao dodged Liu Kang's leap, jumped over to his hat, yanked it out of the wall and threw it. It flew through the air, spinning, before slicing Liu Kang's arm clean off. The Shaolin Monk staggered before looking at his bloodied stump. He looked down at his severed arm before turning to face Kung Lao.

"You…" Liu Kang managed to stagger out before dropping to one knee.

"I didn't want to kill you. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't," Kung Lao stated plainly, taking deep breaths. He walked over to his fallen friend and looked down on him. "I tried to warn you."

Liu Kang tilted his head before falling backwards. At this point, he was lost too much blood. It puddled up around him. He gasped out, "You… killed me… you… actually… did… it…"

Kung Lao nodded lightly.

Then Liu Kang's face turned into a small grin. "I'm… I'm…" He let out one last exhale before his head fell to the side. His eyes were still wide open, but he was also still smiling.

Kung Lao kneeled down before closing Liu Kang's eyes himself. "I'm sorry, my friend. I wish things would be different."

"Oh, don't worry," a voice called out with a slight Texan drawl.

Kung Lao whipped around, ready to defend himself, but a gunshot rang out. He looked down at the gunshot wound in his abdomen before looking at his attacker. It was the man in the booth, holding a revolver. He gave a small smirk and a nod of his head before continuing.

"You'll be joining him again soon enough."

The man pulled the trigger again. This time the bullet hit its mark. Right between Kung Lao's eyes. His head whipped back as he fell to the ground, on top of Liu Kang.

The gunslinger let out a deep sigh of relief before stating, "I'm sure you two will get along swimmingly in Hell." He blew on the barrel of his revolver before tucking it away. He looked towards the frightened bartender before reaching into a different pocket.

The bartender flinched, causing the gunslinger to smirk again. Instead of a gun, he pulled out some cash. "For the drinks." He placed it on the table before stepping over the two bodies. "Fine establishment you have here. Might want to clean the place up a bit, though."

He exited the bar, leaving the bartender alone with the two corpses.

They were finally reunited.


	4. The Offer

**A/N:** As noted below, this take place three months after Mortal Kombat: Legacy.

* * *

The clacking of horse shoes on dirt filled the air. A sandstorm was currently blinding any poor soul trapped outside. This isn't the worst he's been through. The ones in Afghanistan put this to shame. Still, it was a good idea to bring a scarf and glasses. Didn't want to choke on sand before he found his target.

Heh. "Target." Sounds like an assassination's going to take place. Thankfully for them, that is not on Revolver's to-do list. Not yet anyway. Depends on how cooperative he is. No, it cannot go down that way. Enough attention has already been drawn to his boss's plan. He should not have told Stryker anything about him. Curse his love for a good shootout.

It's been three months since that little distraction. Revolver hadn't heard from Hideo in a while. Should give him a call after this is over.

A robotic voice chimes, "Weather will be clearing soon."

He took out a small device. He could barely see it through this storm. What he can see is that in another three hundred feet he'll get to that bar. The target hasn't been seen moving out of there for a few months. Good. Should be easy to coerce him. Probably drunk off his ass in a corner, crying to himself.

How he was able to survive those events three years ago was a mystery to Revolver. Word on the street was that he cut a deal with the Police Department. Information for freedom. It was a smart plan on paper. Too bad Shang Tsung's word didn't mean spit compared to his boss's.

The man was still needed.

The storm soon cleared, allowing Revolver to pull down his scarf. The air was warm, but it was less stuffy than breathing through cloth for twenty minutes. A light scruff was present on his chine and upper lip. His hair was now shoulder length as it blew in the air. He still wore his orange tinted sunglasses in order to stop the glare.

He could see off into the distance what was essentially a giant shack. It was a two floor building, sure, but from here it was rather unimpressive. Nothing like Hideo's.

After a few minutes of riding, he pulled the horse back, stopping its movement forward. He dropped down from the saddle before petting the horse's mane. He was about fifty feet from the bar.

Revolver trusted his horse enough to leave him here alone, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and moved forward.

As soon as he got to the door, he place his hand on the knob and threw it open.

All activity stopped to glare at this newcomer. Revolver had to admit there was more activity in this bar that he originally guessed. He counted about fifteen angry faces glaring at him. It was a scene straight out of a Western movie.

Revolver walked towards the bar, his spurs being the only noise to fill the establishment. He leaned against the bar, pulled out a stack of money, and said, "Everyone's drinks are on me."

The glares turned to smiles as they all began cheering. Revolver smiled before motioning the bartender over with a waging finger. "I'm going to make you a very happy man," the gunslinger whispered, holding out a far larger stack of money.

"As long as I don't have to drop my pants, sure."

Ignoring that statement, Revovler continued, "I want to know if you've seen this man lately." He pulled out a picture form his duster, handing it to the worker.

The bartender looked it over quietly before nodding. "Yeah, he showed up a few months ago. Shows up at six o'clock every morning and leaves at six o'clock at night."

"You let him stay here for twelve hours?"

"He tips very well," the bartender admitted.

The gunslinger looked around. "Does he have anywhere he usually sits?"

The bartender pointed to a booth in the corner. Even in this dark light, Revovler could see the muscular arm of a man.

Revolver clicked his tongue before setting down the money. The bartender greedily took it before running into the back.

He picked up the nearest mug of beer and downed it before moving over to the booth. Once he got closer, he could tell the man was twirling his knife. He seemed to be deep in thought as well.

Revolver removed his duster and folded it into his hands before sitting down across from him. His target had short, black hair, tattoos running up and down his arms, and an eyepatch covering his right eye. The man, in a thick Australian accent, spouted, "Get the fuck off the seat."

"Kano, my friend, you know me better than that," Revolver chided, setting his coat to the side. His smooth out the creases of his suit before sitting down.

Kano's one good eye went wide. "Revolver?" A smile crossed his face. "Aven't seen you in a dog's age!" He held out his hand to shake, which the gunslinger gladly took. After they let each other's hands go, Kano leaned back.

"So, what brings you all the way out 'ere?" Kano asked, raising an eyebrow. He placed his knife back in its sheath.

"Business, I'm afraid," Revolver replied genuinely.

"Woah, woah, woah, I'm done with all that magic shit, Revolver, you know that."

"No, you're done with Shang Tsung and Quan Chi. Since Shang Tsung is dead and Quan Chi has been missing these past few years, you now answer to a higher power."

"Like God?" Kano laughed. "He doesn't exist. Otherwise he wouldn't have put you or me on this world."

"We might be friends, Kano, but I want to assure you we are nothing alike." Revolver picked up Kano's only unopened can of beer. "But… yes. You could he's something like a 'God.'"

"Alright, I'll bite. What's in it for me?"

A chuckle escaped Revolver's lips. "Aside from living? Two things. I couldn't help but notice you've been having a little trouble with your vision."

Kano's upper lip curled up into a snarl. "Gee, never noticed."

"Hmm. Quite. I come with an offer to fix that," Revolver replied, looking at him with a smug look on his face.

The corners of Kano's mouth twitch upward. "And how're you gonna do that?"

"You'd be surprised the advancements my master has made with prosthetics, bionics, and cybernetics. We can artificially make any human organ or limb." He cracked the can open and took a sip. "Even an eyeball."

Kano opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Instead he asked, "What's the second chip?"

"The second 'chip' is a chance to get a little payback for the one who did that to you."

Kano's hand balled up into a fist. " _Kadeem,_ " he hissed.

"Yes." Revolver took a moment to remember who that was. "Him."

"Alright," Kano mussed. "I think we can work something out." He made a move to get up, but he accidentally bumped into a passing by drinker. The mug of alcohol spilt onto the newcomer's shirt, darkening it.

He looked down at it before turning his gaze towards Kano, who returned it with equal hatred. The newcomer sent a fist into Kano's chin, knocking him back. After rubbing his chin, he returned it with his own, only much more powerful.

The blow sent the man back into another table of two drunkards, causing them to begin shouting and hitting each other.

It all snowballed from there.

A patron had grabbed a bottle and smashed it over another's head. Kano had gotten the man he bumped into in a headlock and was slowly applying pressure.

Revolver planted his face in his palm, sighing. "This is the second time I can say I participated in a bar fight," Revolver mumbled, pulling out his Single Action Army and getting to his feet.

He gave it a quick twirl before firing it at the nearest wall. It bounced off and planted itself inside of a random patron's leg. He pulled out his other revolver and fired it directly at a different patron's shoulder. That one went down like a ton of bricks.

Revolver finally aimed it at Kano, who was staring down the barrel. The fighting had stopped as they began to turn their attention towards him. He looked over the sea of drunkards and one terrified bartender, holding his money close to his chest.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "Listen, I don't care what you do after I walk out that door, but I absolutely refuse to be a part of this." He aimed his gun at another patron. "My friend and I are going to walk out of this bar. After I leave you can beat the crap out of each other all you want." He made a move to the door, followed by a smug looking Kano.

Before he got to the door, someone shouted, "You think you can just walk in here and make demands, you little punk!"

Revolver will deny to this day that he was the one who fired the first shot. That does not change that when he did turn around, ten pistols were all pointed at him. He raised an eyebrow before asking, "I really did walk into a Western movie, didn't I?"

"You seem like a well off bloke," the largest of the man stated, his gun pressing against Revolver's forehead. "How about you give me every last dollar in your pocket?"

Revolver raised an eyebrow before grabbing the man's gun, sending it into his face, and then dismantling it. He let the pieces of the broken gun fall to the ground and had his revolver out before they hit the ground. He fired off a shot into the man's head before firing off three more shots into the crowd.

He gave the gun a quick twirl before lowering it. "Those three bullets should not have hit anybody." Holstering the spent revolver, he quickly pulled out another, fully loaded. He aimed it at the nearest patron. "This one still has six bullets."

He pulled back the hammer. "Do you really want to close this fine establishment down because an easily avoidable bloodbath took place?"

The patron who had the gun trained on him looked towards the other and shook his head in fear. When Revolver glanced down at the patron, he fired off a shot right next to him. The bullet whizzed past his ear, ricocheting off the wall, and slamming into the bartender's chest.

The bartender fell to the ground, dropping the shotgun he had brought out. The thud his body made resonated throughout the bar. Everyone stood stock still as the patron Revolver had aimed his gun as another patron let loose the urine collected in his bladder, staining his pants.

Kano let out a hearty laugh, as Revolver holstered his gun. "I have good news and bad news. The bad news is the bartender's dead." He gave off his hand signature before adding, "But the good news is that drinks are on the house."

The rest of the occupants mumbled to themselves before running over to the bar to get their fair share of booze.

Revolver stepped out of the bar followed by Kano, who asked, "Alright, what now? You killed my alcohol supplier, probably ruined business at that place, and dragged me out of my home. I think I'm owed an explanation."

"We're going back to Deacon," Revolver replied, placing his duster back on. "You'll get directions of what to do when you're back there. It'll explain everything."

"Now hold on a bloody second," Kano protested. "I cut a deal to get out of that hellhole. It ain't safe for a criminal mastermind like me no more."

"'Mastermind?'" Revolver mocked with a wicked grin.

"Alright, you get what I mean."

"Think about it, Kano. I'm making you an offer you really can't refuse. Not only do you get your eye back, but you also get to take revenge for whatever those police officers did to you."

Kano shook his head. "Why the hell do we always go after those people?"

"It's not them in particular we're after," Revolver replied. He gave a loud whistle and waited. "It's the city my master is interested in. That place is the staging ground for his takeover. We need it."

Kano shook his head again before stepping back. Revolver's horse came trotting over before stopping in front of its owner. The criminal sighed and asked, "What do I need to do?"

"Be a figure head." Revolver climbed onto the horse, petting its mane. He took out an envelope and handed it to Kano. "I have a guy working behind the scenes, getting all the requirements we need. It's a favor from a few years ago."

Kano scratched his head, thinking back. "Why the piece of paper?"

"That 'piece of paper' contains dates and locations. I suggest you be there. How? I don't care. Just be there."

With that, Revolver gave his horse a kick and rode off into the distance, leaving Kano behind.

The criminal opened the envelope and took out its contents. He gave it a glance over before shoving it into his pocket.

Moving towards a jeep, he took out his keys and began tossing him into the air.

Maybe a trip back to Deacon was due after all.


	5. A Regular Day at the Coffee Shop

**A/N:** Takes place several months after the events of Mortal Kombat: Rebirth.

* * *

There was nowhere you could go in Deacon City to get a decent cup of coffee.

Most of the coffee shops had been closed down for years because of how rough the city had gotten, and the few that were left had no idea how to make coffee. They just pop the grounds in the filter, plug it into a machine and churn it out. Some might enjoy that, but others had a different taste.

But that was all you could get. There were maybe two places left where you could get it so that your coffee was at least tolerable. But even then, sometimes the employees don't take pay very close attention as to what exactly they're doing and more often than not, they ruin the coffee they do have.

So it was a miracle when Kurtis Stryker and Kenshi Takahashi came across this place. It was on a rather unusual patrol. The guys who usually took this route decided they didn't need to be cops anymore and Captain Jackson Briggs asked for a favor. Being decent men, they said they'd take the route.

And it turned out to be a good decision in the end. They found a place called the Perk House. Okay, the name was terrible, but the coffee was simply fantastic. So, when new cops were found for the route, Stryker and Kenshi went out of their way to go to this shop every morning for a little pick up. Well, the decision was mostly Stryker's, as he was the one who drank the coffee. Kenshi settle for a scone or maybe a bagel.

But then they came in for a fifth time. And that's when shit hit the proverbial fan.

Stryker ordered his usual, dark roast, two creams, three sugars, and Kenshi simply bought a muffin. "Trying something new?" Stryker asked, sipping on his coffee.

Kenshi nodded, taking a bite. He said something, but was muffled by the muffin in his mouth.

"Didn't your mother teach you to not to talk with your mouth full?"

After a swallow, Kenshi shot back, "Bite me."

"Sorry, not interested," Stryker replied, taking another sip from his coffee, but winced. "God, why is it so much hotter than usual?"

"Did you remember the cream?"

"Of course I remembered the…" Stryker reached over to grab the two empty containers of coffee creamer, only to find that they were not, in fact, empty. How the hell did he forget that? The police officer gave Kenshi a glance. The swordsman was grinning. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it," Stryker shot back, dumping his creams into the coffee. "Okay, but let me ask you this. Why is this the only place that makes decent coffee?"

"Wouldn't be able to tell you."

"C'mon. Humor me."

Kenshi sat down the few bites of his muffin he had yet to take and leaned back. "This place is new, right?"

"Far as I know."

"Maybe they haven't been spoiled by the emptiness and horribleness of this city. They still think they can make a difference, and all they need is a decent cup of Joe."

Stryker raised an eyebrow, having forgotten his coffee momentarily. "That was so melodramatic it hurt. Like, physically, I mean."

Kenshi sent a soft push into Stryker's midsection, causing him to hiss out in pain. "Dude, c'mon. That's where I was stabbed."

"Kurt, you get stabbed all the goddamn time. I could push you in the shoulder and I'd hit a stab wound."

Stryker rubbed his side, mumbling, "Still hurts like a bitch."

The bell chimed, signalling someone entered through the door.

"So, when was the last time you were stabbed again?" Kenshi asked, taking another bite from his muffin.

"Let's see… had to have been at the tournament. That Baraka guy, I think. Such an asshole."

"We never did catch him, did we?" Kenshi asked, scarfing down the rest of the muffin. "Him, Kano, and that other guy."

"That other guy?"

"Yeah, um, what was his name?" The swordsman tapped his temple, trying to think of the name he was forgetting. "Eh, not important."

Two men walked up to the counter and sat down. They glanced at the two officers before looking at each other and nodding.

"We probably won't catch him," Stryker noted. "If they're smart, they're in Mexico by now. Or Canada. Canada sounds nice. Hey, have you ever been to Canada?"

"Stop saying 'Canada.'"

"Sorry. But let's get back to the wonders of coffee!"

Kenshi winced. "I'd rather not."

"You just hate the fact that you cannot enjoy the wonders of this delectable drink."

"When someone hypes up something like coffee, it's really… wait…"

Stryker raised the drink to his lips before stopping. "What is it?"

All joking had left the conversation. Stryker set down his coffee, Kenshi leaned closer to him. "The two at the bar." Stryker moved to look, but Kenshi stopped him. "Don't look. They're talking about us."

"What are they saying?" Stryker asked, taking another sip of his coffee. They both made sure to keep their voices low.

"They were planning on robbing this place. I can smell the gunpowder from here," Kenshi noted with disgust. "Now that they see us, they plan on firing on us."

"When?"

"Don't know. But get ready."

"For what?"

"There's about to be a fight," Kenshi noted, reaching for a pocket.

Stryker sighed in disappointment. "We won't be able to come here anymore, are we?"

"Nope."

Just as the two men stood up and turned around, Stryker was already up and tackling the man on the right into the bar. He sent a vicious right hook, knocking a tooth out. He held tightly onto the gun, making sure it was pointed at the ceiling instead of any of the patrons.

Just at the guy on the left pulled out his gun, Kenshi held out a hand and sent a telekinetic push into him. The would-be mugger was pushed over the bar. The swordsman shouted, "Everyone out! Now!"

There were screams as the guy Stryker was struggling with fought back. A punch to the gut and a left cross sent Stryker stumbling back. He reached to wipe away the blood pouring from his nose, but he didn't get very far when he was tackled into the table.

The gun was pressed to Stryker's face, ready to be fired at any time. A blue glow surrounded the gun as it was ripped from the robber's hand. It landed in Kenshi's as he sent a telekinetic punch into the robber's face. He was tossed back into the window, nearly causing it to shatter. A small smirk crossed Kenshi's face. Unknown to him, however, the goon from earlier had crawled back out from under the bar, holding a bottle.

Stryker tried to shout, "Kenshi!" It was too late, however.

He smashed it down on the back of Kenshi's head, knocking him out cold. Stryker jumped to his feet and rammed his shoulder directly into where he approximated the goons kidney was. A wad of spit launched from the goon, and a stiff uppercut shattered a couple teeth.

Stryker grabbed the guy by the collar and, with both hand, whipped him into the window the other robber was lying.

The first guy was just getting up when the other one was thrown into them, so the both slammed into the window. It didn't withstand the weight.

It cracked and shattered, sprawling the both of them on the sidewalk.

A few groans came from them as Stryker helped Kenshi to his feet. "You okay?" he asked, dusting his friend off.

"I'm fine." Kenshi cracked his neck, before sighing. "Alright. Let's make an arrest."

The two robbers got to there hands and feet when they noticed something. Leveled next to both of their heads was Kenshi's sword, Sento. That smirk came back, as Stryker was already radioing the crime in. "You two have the right to remain silent."


	6. A Distraction

**A/N:** This take place a few days after the final scene of MK: Rebirth. Read that for details.

* * *

The streets of Deacon City was a cesspool of crime and corruption.

It's been rampant since the attack a few years ago orchestrated by Anarky. The vigilante known as Kabal put a stop to the terrorist, but it wasn't enough. The bombings took a large toll on the city. It was doubtful it would ever be rebuilt completely. Then the tournament happened. They released a known criminal out into the world, but they got another in return.

But there were a few that fought. Not many. But a few. They continuously fought against the disease that infested Deacon City's streets. The vigilante was out there, everyone knew. But sightings had ceased. In fact, the only reason anyone knew he was still alive was that known criminals were found dead. The manhunt continued every day.

It was a different crime that swordsman Kenshi Takahashi was responding to today however.

They got a rather strange 911 call. The person on the line sounded scared and specifically asked for Kenshi.

And Kenshi alone.

He was given a deadline of 30 minutes.

So, he suited up and left. He chose to walk. Roughly twenty minutes later, he arrived at the location provided. He stopped in front of the door and pressed his right ear with his finger.

"I'm here," he spoke quickly.

 _"_ _Congratulations, you're halfway there,"_ the voice on the other end of the communicator replied. _"_ _And with plenty of time to spare."_

"Good for me." Kenshi rubbed his hand on the door. "So I just walk right in?"

" _Yep. That's what the call said, at least."_

"Gotcha. Oh, and Kurt?"

 _"_ _Yes, honey?"_

"Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

A chuckle on the other end. Kenshi hung up and turned the door handle. He heard the tumblers shift as the door creaked open. He listened closely before taking a few tentative steps inside. It looked as though this place used to be a hotel. At least that was the vibe he was getting from it. To his left was a receptionist's desk. To his right was a couch. Nothing else, really. Wait. There was a bar as well.

Before he went further in, he stopped. Giving a quick sniff of the air, he dropped to the floor.

Three shurikens flew threw the air and embedded themselves in the door. Kenshi pulled out his gun, jumped to his feet, and dived behind the nearest form of cover. Unfortunately for him, the nearest form of cover was a couch. He took the safety off, put in a full magazine, and waited.

He put his finger to his ear. "Stryker, I need back up."

Static.

"Stryker?"

"He can't hear you," a voice called out. It was deep and quite hoarse. "Once you entered the building, all electronics were jammed. That just leaves you and me."

"Yeah, I got that," Kenshi muttered to himself. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

Kenshi focused his hearing. He couldn't detect anyone in the same room as him. That's what he thought at least.

His attacker leaped over cover, sending two more of his throwing stars at Kenshi. The swordsman held out a hand, blocking the projectiles with his telekinetic powers. His face scrunched up as he sent them back.

The attacker dodged one but caught the other. He chuckled before dropping it. "Looks like you got my invitation. Name's Mavado."

Kenshi raised an eyebrow as he straightened himself out. " _You_ made the call?"

Mavado was dressed in mostly black. He wore a mask over his face, with only his eyes showing. On his back was a ninjato and a collapsible staff. He wore a leather trench coat, a black shirt, and black combat pants. The trench coat only had a sleeve on the right arm, with a gauntlet strapped to his left hand. On his hip was a M1911A1 pistol. Across his chest was a bandolier of grenades and various pouches.

He reached for the staff and pressed a button. It extended to it's full length before he gave it a slight twirl. "You, my friend, are going to be a lot of fun."

Mavado charged Kensh, swinging his staff downard. The swordsman rolled out of the way, before sending a heel kick into Mavado's side. He let out a hiss of pain, but jerked the staff backwards. Kenshi grabbed ahold of the weapon before pulling it close to him. He sent an elbow into Mavado's sternum before twisting his arm and hitting his nose with the back of his fist.

The both broke apart. "You're good," Mavado stated, giving his staff a brief twirl. "But, just a fair warning, I've been holding back."

Without another second's hesitation, Mavado leaped forward and slammed the staff down on Kenshi's shoulder. The swordsman shouted in pain, before the staff smacked him in the face. He staggered back before the weapon was driven into his stomach. Mavado pulled the staff back before giving him a left hook across the face. He then left the staff fall so that he was grabbing the very end of it before swinging around. It hit Kenshi in the right bicep.

"Come on!" Mavado shouted. "You've got to be better than this! You were doing so well before!" Kenshi gritted his teeth and pulling out the katana on his back. The Sword of Sento. It glowed a bright blue as he pulled it from its scabbard. "The Sword of Sento," Mavado proclaimed, clapping. "Now _this_ is a party!"

The swordsman ignored his words. Instead he ran up and began slashing. Each blow was blocked by the staff. He swung down? Blocked. He swung in from the side. Mavado jumped out of the way before performing a backflip, kicking Kenshi square in the jaw. After Mavado landed, and Kenshi's teeth stopped chattering, he held out a hand and ripped the staff out of his hand.

It flew through the air before landing behind the couch. Mavado wasted no time in pulling out his sword and clashing with the Sento. Kenshi jumped through the air and landed next to Mavado, attempting to slash him across the side. The merc blocked the blow before sending a fist towards the swordsman. Kenshi dodged to the left, performing a leg sweep. The maneuver knocked Mavado to the ground. When he fell on his back, all the air was knocked out of his lungs. But he saw the blade coming down on his head, so he quickly rolled out of the way.

As an effect, the Sento was driven into the floor. Mavado took this opportunity to rush to his feet and tackle Kenshi. The merc used his momentum to send them both into the opposite wall. When they crashed into it, this time Kenshi's air was knocked out.

Mavado rammed him with his shoulder before bringing his sword up. He attempted to drive it into the sword, but Kenshi pushed him away telekinetically. Mavado flew through the air, crashing into the couch and caused it to fall over. It offered him enough cover so that he could regain his bearings quickly.

"This has been fun, Kenshi," Mavado called out. "But it's time to end this."

He jumped up from behind cover, ready to pounce. If only his sword wasn't ripped from his hand and landed in Kenshi's. Before Mavado could react, Kenshi held out his hand, the Sento flying into it. The swordsman glared at Mavado as best he could, which was hard, considering the blindfold. But one could say he pulled it off.

Mavado chuckled. "Well," he sighed, "this is embarrassing."

With his quick reflexes, he pulled out his pistol and began foreign madly. Kenshi dropped Mavado's sword before diving out of the way. Mavado fired four shots, smiling all the while. He laughed as Kenshi struggled to find a place to hide.

"Run all you want, swordsman!" Mavado grinned. "You ain't getting away!" Then a ringing filled the air. Mavado groaned. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a phone. "Yeah?... Yeah, he's right here... Nope, not even close. Running scared… You're done already? Alright. I'm still getting my pay?... Then it was a pleasure serving you."

He snapped the phone shut. "You're in luck, Kenshi. I'm done."

"What?" Kenshi was thoroughly confused at this point, letting the swords droop slightly.

"Yep," the merc replied, putting his gun back in its holster. He walked over, picked up the staff, and returned it to his back. "I've done my job. You're free to go."

Kenshi blinked. "The hell are you talking about?"

Mavado rolled his eyes before sighing. "I was paid to distract you. Not kill you. Someone else is getting that little pleasure."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not dying anytime soon," Kenshi hissed.

"Uh-huh, sure. Look, it's been fun. I had some laughs, you had some laughs, we fought a bit, it was great. Let's call it a draw. 'kay?"

Kenshi shook his head in disbelief. The nerve of this guy to think that he was just walking away like that. Not once had any of his fights stopped because they had 'done their job.' They either fought to the death or surrendered before he shoved his blade in their throat. At the very least, he'd never been interrupted by a phone call.

"If you think you're getting away, you're even more delusional than I thought."

Mavado clapped his hands together before taking that deep breath. "Here's the thing… you really don't have a say in this." He opened his hands, a small marble falling to the ground. He gave Kenshi a wink before it fell to the floor.

That tiny marble was actually a flashbang. It didn't blind him whatsoever, you can't blind a blind man, but it was loud. His senses couldn't handle the loud explosion, as he reached to cover his ears, but it was too late. It went off, temporarily deafening him.

He fell to his knees. He hasn't been in this much pain for a while. After some of the pain goes away, he realizes he's dropped his sword. He reaches out for it weakly before grabbing old of the handle and using it as a can to steady his balance.

It takes a few minutes, but his hearing returns. And Mavado's gone. Perfect. He grunts before returning the sword to its scabbard and walking outside. That's when he's assaulted by his communicator.

 _"_ _Kenshi! What the hell have you been doing?!"_

Kenshi winced. "Nice to hear from you, Kurt. What is it?"

 _"_ _Oh, thank God. When you weren't answering I thought—"_

"Details, Stryker!" He snapped. "Give me details on what I've missed!"

 _"_ _It's the Deacon City Mall. Some psycho started lighting the place up with a flamethrower._ _Calls himself Blaze."_

"When did this happen?" Kenshi asked, already sprinting towards the mall.

 _"_ _Immediately when the comms went down."_

So that's what Mavado was talking about. "When I'm done with this, I need to speak to Jax."

* * *

'It is done?" An old voice asked.

 _"_ _Yep. Just like you asked._ _Still not sure why you didn't want me to kill him,"_ Mavado's voice replied on the other line.

"I still have plans for him, boy, that's all you need to know," the old man replied. "The money is in your account."

 _"_ _Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tsung. Call me anytime you need me again."_

Shang Tsung smiled. "Of course." He hung the phone up before turning towards the officer. "I'm ready to go back to my cell now."


	7. Taking Out the Trash

**A/N:** This takes place a few years after Mortal Kombat: Legacy.

* * *

Deacon City.

It was a cold, winter night. Every night was like this, even in the summer. This was worse than usual though.

The cold was biting her skin. Why did she choose to wear this kind of outfit on this night of all nights? That bastard of a CEO was the reason, she knew. Didn't matter in the end, she supposed. After all, she got the promotion. But she still needed to get home.

She couldn't afford to be seen by anyone that might… A piece of paper floated along the current of the wind. It howled in her ear, almost as if it's whispering that it's coming to get her. Even though it was freezing cold, she was beginning to sweat.

"Get it together, Misty," she told herself. "You're fine, there's nothing to worry about."

It wasn't a smart idea to walk home in her outfit. She was a white woman, blond hair, attractive features, and long legs. Her plump, red lips looked pouty, and any overly curious man or woman might be able to get to have some "fun" with her. Her breast size was rather large, an alluring trait for any potential attacker.

Covering her was a red dressed and a brown coat. The skirt she was wearing stopped short, barely stopping halfway down her thigh. It tended to ride up when she walked. Misty knew this. It helped tremendously with getting her the job. Not so much when she's walking down a darkly lit street.

She looked around. Misty was about to make a very bad decision. But it would be quicker getting to her apartment this way and, of course, there wasn't a single taxi or bus in the area. She sighed, seeing the vapor of her breath in the air.

She turned into an alley.

She carefully made her way through the alleyway. She couldn't see anybody else with her, so that was a good sign.

But the very audible cocking of a gun stopped her cold.

Her eyes went wide as she slowly turned around to see a skinny, shivering homeless man pointing a gun at her. This is exactly what she was afraid of. Why didn't she just take the long way around.

The man looked to be freezing. He had a stocking cap, a worn out leather jackets, and a pair of holey jeans. The hand holding the gun was shaking. Most people could see that he had no intention of pulling the trigger. Just a very desperate man looking for something, more than likely money.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't. Those eyes showed that he had killed before. Misty took a step back, as the man said, "I don't want trouble. J-just… give me the money in the bag."

She looked from his eyes to his gun then back again. She didn't want to give him any money. Why should she? She earned it. So, thinking quickly and with what information she knew, she step forward.

She smiled and said, "How about instead of giving you my money, I…" She unbutton her coat to reveal her ample cleavage. "...take you someplace warmer?"

The man's eyes quickly glanced down before jumping back to meet her in the eye. "I don't… I don't want you. I just want the money."

Mist frowned. She wasn't giving up her money. Why wasn't this guy going for her? She opened her mouth to say something, but a form landed inbetween them.

It seemed to come from nowhere. Just a large black shape landing between them, causing the shivering many to flinch and back off. Misty could barely move, much less make a noise.

The shape began to stand to it's full size, towering above both Misty and the man with the gun. The figure turned to face Misty. She gasped. It wore a gas mask, a black trenchcoat, and two blades on his back that ended in hooks. She couldn't tell, but it looked like the thing was glaring at her.

It turned to face the man, whose eyes bugged out of his head. "Y-You… It's you… I saw you on the new… You're not supposed to be real."

The thing in the coat barely moved for a moment before, in a flash, he slapped the gun from the man's hand and sent a fist into his nose. The man feel to the ground unconscious.

Misty sighed with relief, but then she stiffened when the figure rounded on her. It was definitely a man, but she couldn't see any skin or any features other than shoulder length black hair. That only made him that much more intimidating. She looked between the two men before nodding.

"I recognize you. You're that… vigilante. Kabal, right?"

Kabal didn't respond.

"Well… thank you. Although, personally, I think you shouldn't let him breath."

Misty spit towards the fallen man, past Kabal. The masked man stood stock still, not flinching. Until he tilted his head. "He was desperate. He wasn't going to kill you. I could see it from the rooftops."

He then went back to glaring at Misty. "I don't see your excuse though."

Misty's eyes raised. "Wha-"

Before she could finish, Kabal rushed her, his hand closing around her neck. He lifted her up, her legs dangling in the air, and just stared at her. Misty tried to speak, but Kabal just applied a bit more pressure. It just came out in a strangled cry.

She clawed at his arms for a brief moment before she went limp. Kabal reached over and felt her neck. There was a pulse. She would be out for a little while. Good. He threw her over his shoulder and scaled the building.

* * *

The smell is what woke her up. Cigarettes mixed with alcohol along with the natural musk of dried blood. It was repulsive.

Misty shook her head awake to find herself in a dark room. She tried to move, but she found herself tied down to the chair. She began to sweat and tears fell down her face. She shouted, "HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!"

"No one's helping you," a voice in the dark said.

Misty tried to turn around, but a folder was dropped in her lap. It was thick and rather heavy. What was this? She grabbed the folder with some effort. She had to twist her arm at an awkward angle because of the bonds holding her to the chair.

She flipped it opened and gasped. "W-what is this?"

"Michael Jefferson. Age 37. When he died, anyway."

Misty tried to look behind her, but wasn't able to see Kabal. She turned back to look at the man on the picture before turning another page. Another picture.

"Kyle Martin." Kabal came out of the shadows with one of his hook swords. "Age 42 at the date of death. Want to know what these two men have in common?"

Misty shook her head.

"They were both your ex-husbands. In fact, they went missing while you were still married. Could have been a coincidence." He turned the next page himself. "If not for the other four men that have went missing while married to you."

Misty began shaking. How could he have…? She kept that secret. She hid the evidence incredibly well. She changed her name, she switched cities, how did he find out? "You…" She couldn't find the words.

"You killed six men. Poisoned them slowly over time before hiding the bodies," Kabal added, flipping another couple pages. Toxicology reports, missing persons information. "I've spent a long time building enough evidence. I've been keeping tabs on you for about two months now, ever since the last one died."

"I-I can explain," Misty began, tears starting to fall from her eyes. "They… they abused me. They hurt me everyday, they-"

"No," Kabal bluntly replied. "They didn't. Maybe they were complete scumbags, but I found no evidence that they hurt you in any physical or mental form." He flipped another page. It was a close up of a heavily bruised face. "Erin Henrikson. Your third husband. After he fell over dead, it looks like someone had their fun with his corpse."

Misty then screamed, "I didn't kill them! How could I?! I'm a functioning member of society! Yeah, that's right, I'm normal. A person! And even if I did, so what? What right do you have?! You kill people left and right when they don't agree with you. It's just because I'm a wo-"

"Shut up," Kabal replied, leveling the sword at her. "That's not what this is about. You're completely missing the point. I kill those who have no chance of redemption. That's why that mugger is still breathing." He pressed the blade against her throat. "But you?"

She was crying uncontrollably now.

"You won't be so lucky."

"P-please. I didn't…," she choked out. Maybe he could see reason. He was a hero, right? Heroes don't kill innocent women begging? She didn't kill them. How could she? She was a respectable person. A normal human being. This folder was a lie.

"Didn't what? 'Mean to?'

She was barely about to say, "I'm so sorry." Her sobs wouldn't let her.

Kabal snorted. "No. You're sorry you got caught."

He raised his sword. Misty was about to say something, but remained silent after Kabal brought the sword down with one swift strike. A small amount of blood splattered on Kabal, staining his coat. He placed the blade on his back before snorting in derision.

Another murderer gone. The world will truly weep for her. Kabal noted how she wasn't even the first person to try to pull that "wouldn't hit a woman" crap on him. What made people think that something like that would work whatsoever?

Kabal slipped his mask off, and clipped it to his belt. Reaching over into his pocket, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He sighed, before a cough erupted from his lungs. The carton fell from his hand and landed on the ground, causing the contents to scatter on the floor.

Pain shot up and down his lungs. Kabal clutched his chest and fell to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing violently. Blood stained his lips and the floor. It stopped after a few moments, uneasy breaths coming from his mouth. He wiped off any remaining blood, picked up the nearest cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

Kabal got to his feet and let out one final cough. He looked around the room, checking for any last minutes precautions. He pulled out a lighter, lit his cigarette and walked out of the room. There was one less piece of scum in this world.

His work was done for today.


	8. A Taste of Things to Come

**A/N:** Not really a new chapter, just a little something I wrote up.

* * *

A shot of New York City appears on screen.

We slowly fade into Stryker sitting across from Kabal in an interrogation room. "He's back, isn't he?" Stryker asks.

A shot of Anarky, fully costumed, his long coat waving in the wind, standing on top of a building. He just stares at Deacon City, where flames engulf the city.

A voiceover of Kabal during the previous shot. "He was talking with someone…"

Revolver pulls out his namesake and opens fire onto a group of men. He gives it a twirl before holstering it.

"Talking about a plan with Kano."

Kano, now with his cybernetic eye, laughs loudly as he sits seated around a feast.

"It's all set and ready to move."

A group shot of the three villains above, Kano in a chair leaning back, Anarky seated in front of him observing a map of New York, and Revolver motioning towards a point on it.

"Something's going down."

Johnny Cage looked over a bottle of whisky and plainly stated, "Tonight's gonna suck, isn't it?"

Stryker drives off the road into a ditch, totaling his vehicle.

Kabal jumps out of an exploding window, his trench coat tails catching fire.

Johnny and Sonya are back to back, surrounded by four cyborgs. The cyborgs' arms were morphed into guns and aimed at the surrendering duo.

A deep voice stated, "None of you seem to get it."

Revolver moved past Kano who sneered in his direction.

"You are fighting a losing battle."

Kano stabs a knife through Johnny's hand, just as Sonya tackles him away. The knife is still in Johnny's hand.

"You cannot win."

Sonya snapped a mook's arm, causing him to scream.

"You will all die."

Anarky, holding a bloodied crowbar, crouched next to a beaten, bloodied, but still conscious Kabal, who was lying on the floor. One of his mask's lenses were broken, and his revealed eye had a look of utter hatred in it.

Stryker stood among the rubble of a burning Deacon City. The bodies of his family and friends lay around him. He falls on his knees, clutching his head before letting loose a skyward scream.

In a different shot, Stryker sat down next to Johnny, who had his sunglasses laid to the side. "You realize that this is going to kill us, right?"

Johnny was silent for a few seconds before slipping on his sunglasses, and replying with a smirk on his face, "I got nothing better to do tonight."

Title flashes on the screen.

 _Mortal Kombat._

Slowly, blood leaks down the screen to form the subtitle.

 _Finality._

Several cyborgs circle Raiden. He gives an unimpressed look at them before he disappears in a bolt of lighting. He reappears behind two, ripping off both their heads in one clean swipe. The two bodies fall to the floor. The remaining three cyborgs just stare at Raiden, who asks, "Who's next?"

Cut to black.

* * *

 **A/N:** All but one of these scenes are going to be in the story.

Spino, out.


	9. A Blood Rivalry Part 1

Many years ago, deep in the forests of Japan.

It was in the dead of winter, snow falling lightly to the ground, a thick blanket covering the grass and other foliage.

A man crouched several meters away from a sika deer. It had yet to notice his presence, and he prefered it to stay that way. The man was bundled in his hypothermic gi, keeping the cold away while offering maximum comfort.

On his face was a golden mask, with a hood pulled over it. His outfit was primarily black, with gold on his chest. Strapped to his back were two small swords. On his ankle was a knife. He drew the knife slowly.

Hanzo Hasashi had not been hunting in a while. His obligations to the clan prevented it, so he took the chance whenever he could. He took a few steps forward, but a branch snapped behind him. He froze, but it was too late. The deer was escaping.

His shoulders fell as he turned to look who ruined his hunting. A man in a cleanly pressed suit wrapped in a thick winter coat was approaching him. Hanzo's eyes narrowed in suspicion before getting to his feet.

The man in the suit held out a hand before stating, "General Hasashi-san. I'm from the Lin-."

"I know where you're from," Hanzo replied. He took his mask off and pulled down his hood, letting his shoulder length hair fall out. "What do you want?"

The man seemed taken aback by the interruption, but continued nonetheless. "I'm here on behalf of our Grandmaster."

Hanzo huffed in amusement. "What does he want?"

"To talk," the man replied. "About peace."

"Peace?" Hanzo shook his head and put his knife away. "We were having talks of peace between the two Grandmasters, were we not?"

"Grandmaster Oniro wishes to speak with you directly, Hasashi-san," the man added with a smile.

"Why me? I'm not the Grandmaster."

"No, you are not, but we feel as though you have a more… insightful outlook on life." The man coughed. "We think you would be much better at the negotiations than your Grandmaster. You want peace. So do we."

Hanzo thought for a minute. He hardly trusted the Lin Kuei. They were notorious for backstabbing and lying. But if this was a way to make peace, even if he was just walking into a trap. But he would be ready.

"I will speak to my Grandmaster about it," Hanzo replied. He placed his mask back on and threw up his hood.

"We gladly await your response, General Hasashi. I assume you know how to contact us?"

"I do." He motioned with his head for the man to go away. "Now leave."

"As you wish." The man left Hanzo.

The general of the Shirai Ryu stood there alone. Something about this did not seem right. But peace had to be made. No matter the cost. And if he had to risk walking right into a trap, then so be it.

* * *

"The Lin Kuei approached you?"

Hanzo nodded. Sitting in front of him was the Grandmaster, scratching his chin. He let out a loud sigh. "You should not trust them."

"I don't," Hanzo affirmed. "But the peace talks aren't going anywhere any time soon. This might be our only chance to maintain some sort of truce. It has to be done."

The Grandmaster cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his chair. "Oniro has something planned. I shall increase the guard post on the Shirai Ryu strongholds. I want snipers posted, as well as infantry hidden. If the Lin Kuei wish to start a war, we will give them one."

Hanzo nodded. "And what if there is a trap awaiting? Killing any Lin Kuei could instigate a war."

"I am afraid we are already at war," the Grandmaster sighed out. He rubbed his forehead. "You will be free to take lethal action. Strike fast and hard. Like a scorpion." He leaned forward. "But _only_ as a last resort. Understand?"

Hanzo nodded. "Besides, I doubt the Yakuza would want a war in their backyard."

The Grandmaster chuckled. "That is also true. Now, go. Prepare your things. The meeting will be tomorrow."

"I assume the Shirai Ryu will be fine without me for the rest of the night?"

"Of course." The Grandmaster nodded. "Go home and rest. Spend the night with your family."

Hanzo bowed before leaving.

* * *

By the time he got home, it was already dark. Hanzo cursed himself as he walked through the front door of his home. He made sure to not make any noise as he walk through his living room. At this point everyone was most likely asleep.

He walked over to a cabinet and opened in. There were only a few hooks there, which Hanzo began placing his gear onto. Once his uniform and weapons were put away, he stood in front of them. He was shirtless, his chiseled chest glistening with sweat. He could smell himself, and it was not pretty. That was the price for being active all day. It was also because of the stress. His whole body ached at the thought of having to converse with that bastard, Oniro.

A part of him hoped it was Bi-Han they sent.

They might be able to get something accomplished then.

He stretched his shoulder out before making his way towards his room. He was looking forward to just resting with his wife. But first he had to make sure of one thing.

Walking near his son's door, he saw the television was still on and playing weird cartoons. Jubei called them "anime". Hanzo would never be able to understand what was going on. But he had a smile on his face and leaned his head against the doorframe.

He felt an arm wrap around his broad chest and almost jumped. Thankfully, it was just his wife. Kana stood beside him and leaned on his shoulder.

Hanzo said, "You let him keep the television on."

"He wanted to see you," Kana sighed. "He thought his cartoons would keep him awake."

"My father would have killed me if I left the television on."

"Your father would not have let you have the t.v. in your room to begin with."

Hanzo nodded in triumph. "Exactly." He walked in and turned the t.v. off. He sat on the edge of his son's bed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Kana sat beside him and asked, "What's wrong?"

"The Lin Kuei," Hanzo replied, sighing deeply. "They seek an audience with me tomorrow. I do not trust them."

"Hanzo, look at me," Kana commanded, grabbing his face and turning it towards him. "It will be fine. The Shirai Ryu will protect us. We will still be here when get back."

"I know," Hanzo agreed. "It's just… I don't know. Most of me fears I'm walking into a trap."

"You can handle it," Kana assured him, rubbing his bicep. "Now, let's get to bed and not wake up Jubei."

"Why would we need to worry about waking him up?" Hanzo asked with a knowing smirk on his face. His face was only inches from hers.

Kana winked and said, "How about you come to our room and find out?" She gave him a quick kiss before scurrying out of their son's room.

Hanzo smiled. Right now, any worry about tomorrow was gone. He was just thankful for his family.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, in case this confuses you, I've decided to retcon Scorpion's origin as told in MK: Rebirth. After this there will be a second part, detailing how Hanzo turned into Scorpion.


	10. A Blood Rivalry Part 2

Hanzo stood in the middle of the cold forest.

He had learned long ago how to control his internal temperature to keep warm, not to mention his thermal suit he had on taking the brunt of the cold. The snow was falling slightly. The ground was covered with a blanket of snow. He could steal hear a bird in the distance.

Whoever was supposed to meet him, he was already late. Hanzo barely kept himself from leaving the forest. He tested and trained with his two short swords to pass the time, but still no one showed. He was busy sharpening his knife when he heard someone's footfalls.

His eyes shot up from his knife. Annoyance crossed his face as he sat up from the log. His eyes narrowed, trying to figure which direction his contact was coming from. He made sure his weapons were ready.

"Show yourself," he called out. "I know you're here."

"Even from here, I can tell you look like crap, Hanzo," a voice called out from behind.

Immediately recognizing the voice, Hanzo chuckled. It had been a long time since he had seen this man. Seven years, in fact. But even after all this time, he still considered this man a brother.

"Bi-Han," Hanzo replied, turning around.

In front of him stood a man dressed in gear similar to his own. One of the main differences was that his primary color was blue, not yellow. His mask was also different, as well as the symbol of the Lin Kuei etched onto his shoulder.

Bi-Han stepped closer. Although he wore a mask, his eyes betrayed his smile. "It has been too long, brother."

"It has indeed, brother." Hanzo walked up and offered his hand.

Bi-Han looked at it before looking off into the distance.

Hanzo noticed this. "What is it?"

Bi-Han shook his head. "I am not the same man as I once was. I have done… terrible things in the name of the Lin Kuei. Things I regret. Things I don't."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I need to know… do you trust me?"

Hanzo tilted his head slightly. "Of course I do. Bi-Han, what is this about?"

The Lin Kuei assassin nodded. He looked to the ground. "I just wanted to know if that changed as well."

Hanzo walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are family, Bi-Han. You know this."

Nodding, Bi-Han smiled ruefully. "Thank you, Hanzo."

"We can catch up later, my friend. For now we must discuss peace between our clans."

Hanzo began walking towards the log he was sitting on, with Bi-Han close behind. He stopped momentarily. Hanzo noticed the footfalls stooping and turned around.

"Bi-Han?"

"I'm fine," Bi-Han replied with a slight edge in his voice. "I just remembered why they sent me."

Hanzo looked at his friend in confusion. "For peace," he reminded Bi-Han. "So that we can live without bloodshed between our clans."

The Lib Kuei shook his head. "That was why _you_ were sent here. _I_ was sent here for a different reason." His eyes slowly turned into a glowing blue color.

Hanzo stood in shock as Bi-Han formed a ball of ice in his hand from thin air. Hanzo took a few steps back as the projectile was launched at him.

He quickly evaded it before it nailed its intended target-his head-but fell to the ground on his chest while doing so. His chest and legs were covered in snow. His mind was racing as Bi-Han stomped towards him. The Cryomancer held out a hand, forming an sword made from ice.

"I was sent here to kill _you_ ," Bi-Han proclaimed, venom dripping from every ounce of his voice.

'What are you doing?!" Hanzo demanded. His right hand went straight for his sword on his back. He pulled it out quickly and without resistance.

"You think the Lin Kuei wants peace with filth like the Shirai Ryu?" Bi-Han chuckled darkly. "No. The only way there will be peace is if _you_ and your _clan_ are dead."

"This will instigate a war, Bi-Han," Hanzo fired back.

They were circling each other now. Hanzo gripped his sword tightly. Bi-Han swung his kori sword in his hand, ready to strike.

"There will be no _war_ ," Bi-Han hissed with all the venom he could muster. "Only a _slaughter."_

Hanzo's eyes widened in horror. "My home…" he gasped in realization.

"Is without means to defend itself," Bi-Han noted. "Without their General, the Shirai Ryu will fall to our hand. Our clan will cleanse the world of your presence."

"If you think you'll kill me here-" Hanzo threatened, but Bi-Han interrupted him.

"We don't want you _dead,"_ Bi-Han announced. "You still have to see your family and clan die."

Hanzo's eyes narrowed into slits of fury. He wasted no more time in rushing toward his now former friend. He slashed upwards diagonally, trying to slice Bi-Han open from mid-section to shoulder. It was blocked easily by the sword, which allowed the Cryomancer to grab Hanzo by the face and shove him to the ground.

The fall end General rolled to his feet quickly, blocking several strikes from Bi-Han's kori sword. A kick to the sternum sent Hanzo stumbling back, opening him up for a stab towards his gut.

He knocked the weapon out of the way, following it up with his own kick to the head. It slammed into the side of Bi-Han's head, causing him to recoil from the pain.

Hanzo gained some distance between the two. "Bi-Han! Stop this senseless violence! This isn't you!"

"You still call me 'Bi-Han'?" He couldn't help but laugh. "No one calls me that anymore. I am Sub-Zero."

Hanzo did not care. He threw his sword towards Sub-Zero, pulling out his other sword. Sub-Zero avoided the sword, sending his own ice ball towards Hanzo.

Already running towards Sub-Zero, he somersaulted over it and slashed at him. None of the blows were able to actually land, but Hanzo was slowly pushing him back. The clashed swords until Sub-Zero was up against a tree.

Hanzo then began to rain blows down on his enemy. There was no finese in his blows, simply hatred and rage. Eventually, his sword broke Sub-Zero's sword in half. The broken blade dropped to the ground, but neither combatant worried about that. Sub-Zero readied himself as Hanzo was ready to bring his sword down again.

Except it was caught between Sub-Zero's palms. This did not deter Hanzo from trying to force the sword down, but Sub-Zero's grip was locked. He brought the sword down so that he and Hanzo looked each other in the eye.

"You're weak, Hanzo," Sub-Zero mocked. "I've had students put up a better fight than you ever could."

Hanzo simply snarled, forcing the sword down.

Sub-Zero simply laughed. He then shouted, "Come on! You're fighting for your family and clan! Is not even their lives motivation enough?"

A blue glow came from Sub-Zero's hand, covering the sword in ice. Hanzo looked on in bewilderment. Sub-Zero huffed with pride in his voice, before snapping the sword in two.

The tip of the blade came off easily, leaving the end of Hanzo's half with three jagged points. He shook his head in disbelief and dropped the sword. Immediately after, he sent a fist into Sub-Zero's midsection.

"My family gives me all the motivation I need," Hanzo growled.

He gripped Sub-Zero's shoulders and threw his away from the tree. Before Sub-Zero could reach the ground, Hanzo kneed him in the back. He then grabbed his ankles and flipped him over, causing Sub-Zero to slam onto the ground chest first.

Hanzo kicked him in the ribs, flipping the fallen body onto his back. Hanzo climbed on top of Sub-Zero and began raining blow after blow onto his body. Welts began to form, and a cut appeared just above his right eye. Blood poured into his eyes, but Sub-Zero ignored it. Instead, he intercepted a blow, forcing it to hit the ground next to him.

Hanzo reeled his hand back in pain, allowing Sub-Zero a moment to place his feet on Hanzo's chest and push. Hanzo flew to the ground, and Sub-Zero gave no quarter. He returned the punishment that Hanzo dished out earlier.

Except this time, his fists were encapsulated with ice.

With every blow, the fire in Hanzo's soul dimmed. Eventually, a crack formed on his mask. His face was battered and bruised. Sub-Zero rested momentarily, catching his breath.

Hanzo groaned loudly. If he had any chance to get Sub-Zero off of him, it was now. He tried to get his head up, but a fist slammed into his face. The final blow lulled him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hanzo awoke to find himself in his own living room. He tried to stand up, but he was chained to a chair. He struggled against his bonds, but stopped himself when he saw the man sitting in front of him.

Sub-Zero sat on a chair in front of him. Flanking him were two Lin Kuei warriors. He was sipping some tea from one of Hanzo's antique Chinese cups. He licked his lips before stating, "It reminds me of my home country."

Hanzo ignored his statement in favour of his own statement. "Where are they?"

"It's not that easy, Hanzo," Sub-Zero chided. "I'm not going to show them just yet. I bet you're wondering why we came all the way from China to here."

"I don't care," Hanzo rebuked. "But when I get out of here, I'm going to kill you."

Sub-Zero laughed. "Down to business then! That's what I always liked about you, Hanzo. You alwats get to the point."

He turned towards the two warriors and barked some order in Chinese. Hanzo began huffing in rage. Where was his family? If Bi-Han laid a hand on them, even the gates of Hell would not stop him.

Sub-Zero turned back towards Hanzo. "Let's get started with the main event."

Screaming filled the air now as a woman and child were dragged into the room. Hanzo's heart sank as Jubei was slapped across the face.

"Don't touch him!" He howled in fury. Trying to break his bonds, he squirmed.

Sub-Zero listened to the screaming before himself shouted, "Quiet!" Kana and Jubei stopped sobbing, but Hanzo wa still thrashing against his bonds.

Sub-Zero got to his feet and punched him across the face. "I told you to shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

Hanzo calmed down slightly, but still seethed in anger.

Sub-Zero took a few deep breaths. "Here is what's going to happen. I'm going to kill them both." When Hanzo begun struggling, Sub-Zero shouted over him, "I'm going to kill them and then I'm going to kill you! Do you understand?!"

Hanzo shouted back, "Do whatever you want to me, but please don't kill them! Please!"

Sub-Zero shook his head and chuckled. " _Tsk tsk tsk._ That's not how this works, my friend. I'm going to give you a choice. You decide who dies first."

"No!" Hanzo shouted back, but a blow to the head silenced him.

"Yes! Yes you are!" He walked over to Kana and Jubei. He placed a hand on Jubei's shoulder. "The boy?" He then caressed Kana's cheek. "Or the woman?"

"Don't make me choose," Hanzo sobbed. "Please."

"The woman?" Sub-Zero asked. "Is that your choice?!"

"No!"

Kana began sobbing again as Jubei called out, "Mommy!"

A jagged spire of ice erupted from Kana's chest. It was soaked in blood as she made noise. It was a mix between a gasp and a gargle. Sub-Zero kicked her to the ground.

"Now for sweet, little Jubei," Sub-Zero cooed.

Hanzo was a mess at this point. His wife had died in front of his eyes.

Sub-Zero spoke up, "I am not a cruel man. I will let you have one last hug with your son."

He gave Jubei a nudge, who then sprinted for his father. Before he could reach him however, he was frozen solid mere inches from Hanzo's face.

Jubei's expression was frozen in horror. It looked as if he was pleading for his father to help him. All Hanzo could do at that moment was sink in his chair.

His wife… his son… dead.

Sub-Zero sighed. "I know that was sad, my friend." He walked over and gave Hanzo a hug. "I can only imagine what you must be going through."

Hanzo was sobbing when an intense and sharp pain penetrated his chest. Blood poured from his mouth. Sub-Zero had pierced his heart with his kori sword.

"You'll reunite with them in Hell," Sub-Zero offered in mock comfort, "Shirai Ryu dog."

The light began to fade from Hanzo's eyes. He tried to take a few breaths, but there was no airflow. He hunched over.

Hanzo had lost too much blood.

Sub-Zero got to his feet as Hanzo died in front of him. One of the warriors stated, "We have word from the rest of the clan. The Shirai Ryu is gone."

"Excellent," Sub-Zero stated.

At that moment, another figure appeared from the shadows. He was pale, almost a bone white skin color. He was dressed in a black suit, with a hat on his head. The broad-brimmed hat covered his head, but he removed it when he walked into the room. Etched on his forehead were red symbols.

"Oniro will be pleased," the man spoke in a deep voice. "Give him my regards."

"What should we do with the bodies?" Sub-Zero asked, gesturing to the three corpses on the ground.

The man ground his teeth for a moment before replying, "Throw the child and the woman into the dumpster, for all I care. They're worthless to me." He knelt in front of Hanzo's corpse. " _This_ one, however... Keep him here. I have something to do."

Sub-Zero nodded and ordered the Lin Kuei guards to remove the bodies in Chinese. He glanced at Hanzo again.

"Not having second thoughts, are we?" The white man asked, a smirk playing across his lips. "Because it's a bit late for that."

"Not at all," Sub-Zero replied. "In fact, I feel better than ever. Your little power up that you gave me got rid of any doubts."

"Good." The man waved him off. "There's a man. He's currently in America. Deacon City, if I'm not mistaken. Go there. His name is Shang Tsung. He will be your new master in the coming years. Understand?"

"How long will that be?"

"As long as it has to. Go."

Sub-Zero bowed before leaving with the two other guards. They had already carried Kana and Jubei out of the house.

The man in white placed his hands on Hanzo's shoulders and began to speak. "If you can hear me, my name is Quan Chi. I know what Bi-Han has done to you and your family. I can offer you redemption. I can offer you _vengeance_. Swear your loyalties to the Netherrealm. Once your quest has been completed, you will serve me. Do this, and you will have your revenge."

Hanzo's finger twitched. Quan-Chi noticed it out of the corner of his eye. He smiled and got to his feet. His work was done. Sub-Zero returned.

"Want us to dispose of him as well?" he asked.

"Yes. Do what you like. I have what I need."

Quan Chi placed his hat back on his head before saying to no one in particular, "I have a feeling this will be a very interesting next couple of years."

* * *

 **A/N:** Once again, this is the new version of how Hanzo was killed by Bi-Han. The version in MK: Rebirth is now noncanon. Understand? Cool.

Spino, out.


	11. A Visit Long Overdue

The birds were flying in the air.

The sun was out.

There was hardly a cloud in the sky.

But Kurtis Stryker felt only pain.

It had been a year since Shang Tsung attacked Deacon with his band of cyborgs, ninjas, and people with blades on their arms. Overall, it was a weird, strange night. But the thing that will resonate with him the most, what will stay with him for the rest of his life, is a loss that cuts deeper than any stab wound.

All things considered, he got out of there relatively unscathed. His stomach was wrapped in bandages and his arm was cast in a sling. The wounds Shang Tsung inflicted would still be there for the rest of his life. The doctors said that he just barely missed Stryker's spine and a few major arteries. It would have taken maybe a few millimeters to the left or right, and he would no longer be here. It still hurt whenever he took a deep breath, or when he bent over in a wrong way. Whenever he lay in bed, he just gently ran his hands against the various scars.

The looked welcome to the older scars given to him at the tournament.

But that wasn't even close to the worst thing that happened that night. The worst thing wasn't anything that physically happened to him. No. He could deal with all that stuff. What hurt the most is what happened to the man in front of him. The man buried six feet deep in the grave in front of him.

His friend. His partner. His brother. Kenshi Takahashi.

He saw the sword pierce his friend's heart. He saw the blood drip to the ground. He held his body as the life left from it. He felt the blood run down his hands as he tried in vain to close the wound. He was there, denying it. And now he was here, accepting it.

Perhaps accepting was the wrong word. It still tore him apart on the inside. But he wasn't the mess he was when he woke up in that hospital.

Stryker was never comfortable in a suit. He preferred jeans and a t-shirt any day of the week. Or better yet, his police uniform. But he felt the need to dress up today.

The funeral was quick. There were only a few people there. They hired a priest and they mourned for about twenty minutes. No one was in a mood to be jovial. Especially since most of the gathered witnessed his death.

There was no body in the grave in front of him. There was nothing to bury. Kenshi's body was practically vaporized with the amount of C4 in the building that night.

He's been standing there for about an hour. He hasn't said a word. He hasn't made any gestures. His legs burn, pleading with him to take a seat. But for some reason he felt as though he shouldn't. Not now, anyway. Not until he said something. Anything.

After another ten minutes of silence, Stryker finally spoke to the gravestone. "I should have done this a while ago." He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say next. "I… I've been putting it off, I suppose. Pretending to be too busy with other stuff. It has been a busy year, when I think about it. Shang Tsung really screwed the city over."

He took a deep breath. "The truth is… I suppose I was too scared. I thought it was going to be final when we buried you, but in the back of my mind, I always thought that you were going to walk into my room to wake me up at six in the damn morning or something. But, as I look at the tombstone, I understand now."

His eyes started to water. He chuckled darkly. "I thought I was done crying. But I suppose the world always finds a way to kick me in the dick." He put his hands on his knees. "I'm getting tired. I've been standing here for about an hour and a half."

He took a seat in front of the grave. He leaned back on his arms and just stared at the head stone. Another few minutes passed. "I have been busy, though," Stryker replied truthfully. "There's the rebuilding efforts, of course. That's been hell. Looting, which is always fun. Still finding missing people out there."

Stryker sat up, sitting criss cross. He laid his hands on his knee before smiling. "I'm also, ah, seeing someone. She's great," Stryker beamed. He looked down at the ground before stating, "She's the best thing in my life right now. Sometimes… sometimes I feel she keeps me from joining you up there. You know her."

Stryker looked up at the sky now. He was avoiding looking at the head stone anymore. "It's Alex, actually. Finally got the balls to ask her out. It was after we interrogated… him." Stryker's smile fell slightly, but he shook his head. "She's the most beautiful woman I ever met." He laughed a bit. "I guess you called it from the beginning. When I was always tripping over my sentences around her. I can't help but feel you're smiling from wherever you are."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny case. "I'm going to give this to her. I don't know when. I'm not even sure if I should. I'm a little nervous, to be honest. I'm scared that she'll say no. But I suppose you never know unless you go out there and try."

Stryker got to his feet, pocketing the case. He went silent for a few seconds. A gentle breeze filled the air. A chill ran up Stryker's spine. He had no idea why. He looked behind him, seeing only his car. He raised an eyebrow, but looked back at the grave.

"I'm not sure when the next time I'm coming will be," Stryker announced, ringing his hands. "But I'll try to come again in the future. You have my word."

"You were like a brother to me," Stryker announced. He got to his feet and rested a hand on the headstone. "I love you."

With that, he began to walk away. He didn't look back. He had hoped for some sort of closure. But all this visit did was make it hurt worse.


End file.
